


This Tree With All Its Broken Branches

by morganoconner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Brothers, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, M/M, Reunions, The Alpha Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as Clint is concerned, Clinton Hale died in the fire that killed most of his family seven years ago. After following his two remaining siblings to New York in secret to ensure they were safe, he took a new name and became an Omega, a lone wolf. The guilt he felt for his part in the blaze wouldn't allow him to do anything else, and as a wolf without a pack, he probably would have died the messy death he deserved if Phil Coulson hadn't found him.</p><p>Now, years later, he gets word that his sister is dead and his brother is back in California, starting a new pack. Guilt, curiosity, and a loyalty he’s never been able to shake have him making his way back to Beacon Hills, where he will be confronted by the family he left behind and the answers to questions he never knew to ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Tree With All Its Broken Branches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the crossbigbang challenge on LJ.
> 
> This story has been a work in progress for over a year now. As such, it goes AU after season 2 of Teen Wolf. I used the names given to the Alpha pack members, but otherwise, there should be no season 3 spoilers anywhere. Beyond that, this story is canon-compliant with both the Avengers movieverse and Teen Wolf.
> 
> Much love and many hugs to blueskypenguin for her amazing (and FAST!) beta work, to fairyniamh for also looking it over, and to Miya for being the best cheerleader and word war partner a girl could ever hope for. This story would never have been finished without her help. ♥ All my love also to my artist, equal_to_k, who put up with several delays while I tried to finish this on time, and who came through with some [really wonderful art](http://equal-to-k.livejournal.com/41056.html) anyway.

By the time Clint actually hears about it, his sister has been dead for almost a year. The worst part is that it isn’t even surprising it took so long for the news to reach him; actually, if anything is surprising it’s that he finally heard at all. Between Loki and the Chitauri and the Avengers and rebuilding New York, he hasn’t had a lot of time to _breathe_ , let alone keep up with the tattered remains of his family. He’s ashamed to admit that he never even realized Laura and Derek had left New York. Clint went lone wolf a long time ago, but that never stopped him from keeping tabs on them before.

And now Laura is gone, and it sounds like his brother is in way over his head, and fuck if Clint isn’t about to do exactly what he promised himself he never would.

The door to Phil’s office is open when Clint reaches it, so he gives only a cursory knock before poking his head in. Phil, as usual, is buried in paperwork, but he glances up and gives Clint a tired smile when he sees him. "Agent Barton," he greets with a nod, always professional when they’re here at the office.

Clint steps in and closes the door. "Phil," he says, and damn, his voice comes out a lot shakier than he intended it to.

The effect is instantaneous. Phil’s expression goes from warm and welcoming to soft and concerned so fast Clint thinks he might get whiplash, and he’s up from his chair and striding towards Clint before Clint’s brain has much of a chance to catch up. "What’s wrong?" Phil asks, reaching out to press too-gentle fingers to Clint’s cheek. His worry is palpable, too strong, a scent that surrounds Clint and fills his senses and cuts right through the mental defenses he built up before coming here.

It’s enough to break him, but Clint can’t afford to break. Not yet. Hell, maybe not at all. He closes his eyes and clasps Phil’s hand in his own. "I need to take some of that personal time I’ve got saved up."

"Of course," Phil says without missing a beat. "How long do you need?"

Clint shakes his head. "Dunno." Hopefully not long. He just needs to check in, needs to see, needs to make sure the last remaining member of his family is okay. If he’s lucky, Derek will never even know he’s there, and it will be a quick trip. He’ll work it like he would any op; get in, get the intel, get out.

He opens his eyes to find Phil watching him steadily, ready to be there in any way Clint needs, and Clint is struck all over again with the knowledge that he doesn’t deserve this man in his life. He doesn’t deserve this perfect mate, not after everything he’s done. But his heart clenches tightly around the knowledge, and he knows he won’t give Phil up for anything now that he has him. "I need to get to Beacon Hills," Clint manages to grit out.

Phil nods slowly, then leans in to press a light, lingering kiss to the corner of Clint’s mouth. "I’m going with you."

There’s no room for argument in his tone, and Clint is secretly grateful. He doesn’t want to face that place with all those personal demons alone, but he would have, and he would have fought to, because he knows he doesn’t deserve anything else. But Phil is far too good a man to allow him to sink to that level of masochism. "Fine," he says, pressing his forehead to Phil’s in silent gratitude. "I’m gonna get to the range, get some practice in." Which is code for _I’m going to shoot until I’m numb and don’t have to think about this anymore._

"All right. We’ll talk at home tonight?" Which is code for _I know you’re not okay, and I’m here when you’re ready to tell me why._

Clint nods, swallowing hard before he pulls away and strides out of the room without a backwards glance.

Tony insists on flying them out on his private jet. After his initial characteristic lack of tact ("I didn’t even know you _had_ a sister, Barton") and Steve’s subsequent disappointed glare ("That was insensitive, Tony, you should apologize"), there really wasn’t any point in arguing.

By the time they reach California, though, Clint is impossibly (if secretly) grateful to the billionaire who’s somehow become one of his closest friends. It was a long flight, with too much time to think, and Clint knows if he’d been surrounded by strangers the entire time it would have been a hell of a lot worse. As it stands, the only one here to see him feeling so lost is Phil, and Phil knows him inside and out anyway. Phil is a part of Clint in a way that means Clint _can’t_ hide from him no matter how much he may want to, and that makes it okay, somehow.

"I booked us a room just outside of town," Phil tells him as they get into the rental car Tony also took the liberty of procuring for them. It’s a ragtop, flashier than anything Phil would have gone for, but Clint likes it.

"In your name?" Clint can’t help asking. He knows it’s ridiculous. No one here knows the name Barton, could never connect him to the Clinton Hale who lived here so many years ago and died tragically in the fire that killed most of the Hale family. But it’s one more thing, a tiny link he doesn’t want to take chances with when there’s even the smallest chance someone _could_.

"Just like I promised," Phil assures him. He runs a hand up and down Clint’s arm once before shifting the car into drive and navigating through the airport and onto the streets that will lead Clint home.

He goes alone the first time, leaving Phil in their room happily clacking away on his laptop. If there’s anything of interest to find in the town, Clint knows Phil will find it, but for now, Clint just needs to do this. He needs to see the place where it ended for all of them, if it’s even still standing. He needs…

He doesn’t know what he needs, really, but he knows he needs to do it alone.

It’s easier to go on foot than to take the car. The car will draw notice in a town like Beacon Hills, and he’s fast enough on his own anyway, racing on all fours as he navigates the still-familiar paths through the endless expanse of woods that surround this entire area.

It’s only as he’s nearing the spot that marks the edge of what used to be his family’s property that he registers the scents. People have been here. _Recently_. And not just humans, but other wolves, he thinks. Coming and going with a regularity that indicates habit.

Fuck, he hadn’t thought Derek would be masochistic enough to set up camp here of all places. But then, it’s probably exactly what Clint would have done. _Damn_.

His only options now are to move closer and come to terms with the fact that Derek _will_ catch his scent at some point soon, or run as fast as he can in the opposite direction and hope his brother doesn’t come this way until the scent has faded. And Clint knows the odds aren’t in his favor; his luck is almost never that good.

If he’d ever bothered imagining how he’d tell his siblings he was still alive, this wouldn’t have been it. Derek is an alpha now, and there’s no telling how he’ll react to the news.

But there’s nothing else for it.

Clint takes a deep breath, straightening, setting his spine and shoulders like a soldier getting ready to march into battle, and he keeps walking forward.

It doesn’t take long for the scent of sawdust to reach his sensitive nose. Sawdust and steel and sweat. Smells that hint at labor, building something.

Or _re_ building.

The house comes into view like a mirage. Clint isn’t sure what he was expecting, but the reality almost brings him to his knees. His memories of the fire have always been sketchy at best – smoke and screams, ash and tears, roasting meat and bile in his throat, small hands clawing at him, broken voices begging for help – and even SHIELD’s best psychologists, the ones Phil begged him to at least try, haven’t been able to help. To this day he’s still not sure how he even got out. Knows only that he woke up half a mile away, bloody and broken but already healing, and he ran, and he never looked back.

The house is still standing, and that’s a surprise. It’s smoke-blackened and crumbling all the way down to the foundations, but it’s still standing. Around toward the back corner, Clint can see that pieces have been taken apart and re-fitted with new structures, an intricate blend of old and new, dark and light, and he can’t help but wonder who his brother is trusting to help with finally fixing their home. He himself wouldn’t have thought it was even possible, but Derek – bright-eyed and inquisitive and always full of surprises – of course would be the one to find a way.

God, he’s missed his family.

He takes a deep whiff of the air around him, wondering if he can risk just a few more steps now that he’s already come so close. Derek isn’t here, but someone is. Someone human, standing just inside the front door, he thinks. He smells afraid, and for that reason alone, Clint wants to talk to whoever is there, to reassure them that he isn’t here to hurt anyone.

He takes another hesitant step forward, and the door to the house is very abruptly pulled open.

The kid who steps out can’t be older than mid-teens. A mess of dark hair, cinnamon-brown eyes, and a wide mouth currently set in a frown of absolute defiance. Probably close to six feet tall, thin but not skinny. He’s wearing a printed t-shirt with a plaid shirt thrown over it and left unbuttoned, and jeans that are frayed along the bottoms. He sort of looks like he was dressed by a combination of Steve and Tony, and Clint has to bite back his laughter at the thought because he thinks it might send the poor kid into apoplexy.

"I should warn you," the kid says, his voice carrying easily to Clint still standing a few yards away from the front steps. "I have a taser, and I’m not afraid to use it. I was trained by the best, and I swear to _God_ if you don’t stop looking at me like that, I don’t mind proving it!"

Clint crosses his arms, ginning widely up at the kid. "Looking at you like what?" he asks.

"Like you’re gonna _eat_ me the second my back is turned! I know that look, okay, I see that look every single day, that look and I are intimately acquainted." He visibly has to stop himself from continuing. "So who are you and what do you want?"

Amused, Clint holds his hands up, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "I’m looking for someone, that’s all. Not here to hurt anyone, okay?"

The kid actually snorts. "Yeah, that’s what they all say."

Clint tries a different tactic. "You’re here, so you must know Derek, right?" If possible, the kid’s eyes go even more suspicious, and he doesn’t answer. Clint realizes that what he’s seeing right now is _protectiveness_ , and if this was any other situation, he’d be having a good laugh over his brother’s little human guardian. As it stands, though, he thinks maybe Derek needs all the people he can get to watch his back. "Okay, look, kid, I’m leaving, all right? No need to get your taser. Just do me a favor, and tell Derek that Clinton was here and wants to talk if he’ll see me. And tell him I’ll understand if he won’t."

The kid eyes him for a long moment and then finally nods once. "Fine, good, go. Please, for the love of God. And don’t think I won’t be watching!"

Clint backs away, grinning again. "It’s good to know Derek has some friends here. Thanks, kid."

And then, because it’s very obvious he’s already been made as a werewolf, he turns and he runs.

"I think you’re making this into a bigger deal than it has to be," Phil tells him later, while Clint is busy pacing holes into the floor of their motel room.

"You don’t understand," he growls. "I didn’t come here for this. I just wanted…I wanted to make sure he was okay, not _talk_ to him. I can’t…I’m not…" He spins, curling his hand into a fist and slamming it into the wall. The plaster cracks, and he feels the sharp hurt of his knuckles fracturing.

Phil sighs, coming over to inspect the damage. Clint bites down hard to prevent a sound from escaping when he gently soothes Clint’s fingers straight. "Broken," Phil says decisively. "I hope you’re happy."

Clint scowls. "It’ll heal."

"You’re an idiot."

In spite of himself, Clint grins a little. "You wouldn’t have me any other way, boss." He says boss like the term of endearment it’s become over the years, and even Phil can’t stop his lips from twitching.

"Why are you so sure he won’t want to see you?" Phil asks, guiding Clint over to the bed and forcing him to sit still while he waits for the broken bones to knit.

"Because it’s my fault," Clint says, looking away, jaw clenched. "The fire, our family, all of it."

"From what I’ve been able to find, the blame lies with a young woman by the name of Kate Argent," Phil says. "Not you."

"Doesn’t matter who did it. It was an Argent, which means they were doing it as payback for my fuck-up." Familiar guilt curls in his stomach, leaving a bitter aftertaste at the back of his throat. He forces the confession out through gritted teeth. "When I was eighteen, I had an affair with a woman named Victoria. She was married to Kate's older brother. The Argents were hunters, and I knew how stupid it was, but I just…I screwed up in a bad way. It didn’t last long, but…"

"Did her husband find out?" Phil asks softly.

"He wouldn’t have," Clint says. "But he couldn’t father kids, and she ended up pregnant. Didn’t take a rocket scientist." His hand is mostly healed now, and clenched tightly in his lap. "They left Beacon Hills almost immediately, but the rest of the Argents kept sniffing around, for years. Coming and going and generally being a thorn in my family’s side. Hunters have a ‘ _code_ ’, but lemme tell you, that didn’t stop them from starting fights as often as they could with any Hale they could find, even the humans in my family." He swallows hard. "The fire was just them doing what they’d been wanting to do for over a decade for my fucking around with their family."

"Clint." Phil’s voice is still soft, still reassuring, his hand a gentle weight against Clint’s spine, and it’s too much. Everything he’s been tamping down for seven years – _eighteen_ years – is just boiling over inside of him, and Clint feels like he’s going to explode with it. He can feel his fangs elongate, his fingers curling as the claws come out, his skin prickling as he fights for control. He looks up, and the eyes he meets in the dresser mirror are glowing electric blue, sharp and startling.

"Get out of here," he growls at Phil, but his mate doesn’t even flinch.

"If you didn’t hurt me in Budapest, you’re not going to hurt me here." He leans closer, pressing his forehead to Clint’s shoulder. "Breathe, Clint. Just breathe for a second."

Clint does as he’s told, breathing deeply in and out, inhaling the scent of Phil and focusing only on that until he finally feels the shift begin to reverse. "Christ." He hasn’t lost control like that in a long time, and he doesn’t think it bodes well for what’s coming if Derek does choose to speak with him.

"Clint, there’s something you should know," Phil says, very quietly. "Chris Argent is here. He lives in Beacon Hills, has for almost a year now." Clint doesn’t know why he’s always so surprised by the amount of research Phil can accomplish with nothing but a laptop and an hour of free time, but he is. And even more so when Phil continues. "His wife passed away several months ago, suicide, but he stayed here. With his daughter."

All the breath leaves Clint’s body in a rush. He stares at Phil, numb. "His…you mean, they didn’t…"

"She’ll be eighteen next month."

Clint should have known this. Why the hell hadn’t he ever bothered to find out for sure, how could he not have _known_ this? "Fuck," he whispers.

"Can I show you something?" Phil asks.

Clint stares at him. What else can there possibly be? How much more does Phil think he can handle right now, with this bomb dropped in his lap and his little brother maybe on the way, and _fuck_ , when did his life turn into such a mess again? Two weeks ago, he was in New York, finally feeling like he’d found a place in the world again, maybe even a pack, of sorts, and now… He waves a hand. "Fine. Hit me," he says, because what else can he do?

Phil leans over to grab his computer, places it in his lap and clicks a few buttons. A video appears on the screen, a young girl with chestnut curls and a big smile waving to someone off-screen in the crowd of onlookers. The title above the video reads, _13-year-old Allison Argent, First Place Winner 2007 Junior Archery Competition._

Clint’s fingers hover over the screen as he watches her expertly draw, loosing arrow after arrow to hit the target dead center every time. He can’t breathe all over again. "You knew?" He stares at Phil for a long moment before his eyes are drawn back to the screen. "Before I even got back?"

Phil has the decency to pretend to look sheepish. "Your brother is a magnet for trouble, a lot like someone else I know." He gives Clint a _look_. "A few names regularly came up in conjunction with his in some of the stranger stories. Allison’s was one of them. A quick check of her name led me to that video, and, well. I may not be Bruce Banner levels of genius, but it wasn’t difficult to piece together. Although I didn’t realize that you didn’t know." Clint continues to stare at the video, the girl’s beaming smile and easy grace, but he can feel Phil watching him. "Are you angry?"

"I don’t know what I am," Clint answers. He rubs a hand over his face and realizes his heart is pounding.

"Do you want to go for a run?"

"No." Clint closes the laptop and shoves it away, grabbing Phil by his shirt collar and tugging him up to the pillows. He doesn’t want to face any of this right now, doesn’t want to think about it until he has no choice. He curls up and doesn’t even have to wait for Phil to curl in beside him, draping an arm around Clint’s waist and holding him, anchoring him. Phil always knows what Clint needs the most, and right now Clint just needs him to be _here_.

Clint closes his eyes and counts Phil’s steady heartbeats until he’s finally allowed to slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It doesn't last long. Clint is woken abruptly by a pounding on the door that splits across his skull like a hammer blow. What rest he did manage to get is made worthless by the adrenaline that kicks his unwilling body into overdrive, and he's stumbling for the door before he's managed to fully wake.

Derek's eyes – pale gray-green where Clint's have always edged toward blue like their mother's – are impossible to read. He stands there in black jeans and a black shirt and a black leather jacket, wearing a deep, stubbled frown and looking like he just came from a biker bar, and he doesn't say a word. And Clint is just as silent, frozen with his hand clenched white around the door like it's the only thing keeping him standing, and it's entirely possible that it really is.

Just when it's starting to feel like the silence is reaching across the gap between them and strangling him, Derek spins and stalks away, leaving Clint gaping after him. He turns, only to be faced with Phil's raised eyebrow and pointed nod to go after him.

Clint rubs at his face, weariness dragging at him already, but he does as he's directed. Would have even if Phil _hadn't_ told him to, but it helps to have that backing him up.

Derek is halfway across the parking lot when Clint catches him. He snarls when Clint grabs his arm, teeth bared and eyes flashing crimson, and Clint takes a hasty step back, eyes going immediately to the ground.

It's nothing like the dynamic either of them knew a long time ago, when Derek, thirteen years younger than Clint and so unsure of himself, so damn _shy_ back then, was the submissive one. When Clint was the one who was slated to become Alpha. When things had still been normal, even _good_.

But Clint's an omega now, the bond between him and his pack burned to ash along with his family and his home, and he knows who's in charge now. Even if it wasn't so visible, it's blatantly obvious that Derek's not that same shy kid anymore. Sometime in the last six years, he's come into his own. Crawled through hell and back to get there, too, it looks like.

"You're supposed to be dead," Derek growls, not backing down despite Clint's show of submission.

It makes him cringe, makes him want to whimper. He grits his teeth, fighting the impulse. "I know."

"Where have you been?" A thread of command in the tone, and a question that makes Clint wince again.

"Uh. New York?" he admits, flinching when Derek grabs him by his shirt and spins them, shoving Clint against the closest car – a beat up little Civic. "Fuck," he hisses, and Derek's right in his face now, eyes still red and fangs sharp and dangerous in the moonlight.

"If you're here to kill me," Derek rumbles, "you picked a bad time for it."

A new smell makes Clint twitch, and his gaze slides to the left, where a wolf he doesn't know sits watching from the shadows. Fucking Christ. "Why the fuck would I be here to kill you?" he demands. He looks at Derek again, searching his face desperately for some sign of the kid brother he used to know.

"Peter wanted to be Alpha badly enough to do it. Why shouldn't you?" Derek's face gives nothing away, even when Clint sags.

" _Peter_ killed Laura?" he whispers.

Derek eyes him for a long moment before he finally releases him, taking a measured step back. "You didn't know," he says. It's not a question.

Clint can only shake his head mutely, closing his eyes against the fresh wave of pain. Their sister, bright and beautiful, waves to him in his memory. Always smiling, always laughing. "She didn't deserve that."

"No." Something in Derek's voice tells Clint it's probably a lot worse than he knows.

He doesn't _want_ to know.

"Peter. You're Alpha, so he's…"

"Dead," Derek confirms in a low voice. "Twice. First time didn't take, but the second sure did."

Clint nods. "Good." Not enough, not nearly enough to avenge her, but still good. He only wishes Nat had been the one to do it. He doubts Derek made him suffer half as much as she could have.

The thought – the idea – makes him shudder all the way down to his bones. Peter had been family too. " _Fuck_ ," he says again.

Derek looks away, toward his silent pack member. He nods tightly. "Go home, Isaac. We're good here."

The other wolf slinks away into the night without a word. Clint releases a slow breath.

"Guess we got some catching up to do," he says. His voice sounds weak to his own ears.

"Everything all right?" Phil asks, not even bothering with a 'hello' when Clint calls him on his cell.

"Yeah," Clint says, although he's not entirely sure. "We're gonna talk. Just wanted to let you know I was alive, and not to bother calling in the troops."

Phil makes a small sound of amusement. "They'd come, of course. But I'll admit I'm a little glad not to have to. I'm not sure a town like this is ready for that."

A town like this isn't ready for _Tony Stark_ , let alone his alter ego and friends. Clint shakes his head. "You should go back to sleep. Not sure when I'll be back."

"I'll wait up," Phil replies, like Clint is an idiot for suggesting otherwise. "Be safe. I love you."

Clint feels the heat rise in his neck, knowing Derek can hear every word spoken between them. "You too." He flips his cell closed, shoves it and his hands into his pockets as he turns back to Derek.

Derek only raises an eyebrow and nods to his car, a dark, sleek Camaro that seems more like Laura's style than his. "Come on," he says. "We'll take a drive. Talk. You can start by telling me how you plan on apologizing to Stiles for scaring the crap out of him this afternoon."

So Derek is as protective of his pack as his pack is of him. Maybe he isn't quite as over his head as Clint thought he was. That's something, anyway.

He gets into the car.

"You thought it was _your_ fault?" Derek asks, an incredulous tone to his voice as he stares at Clint. In front of them, the lake gleams, exactly as it had the last time they'd come here together. Over a decade ago, Clint remembers with no small amount of regret.

Clint shrugs uncomfortably, his arms draped loosely around his knees as he looks away. "I know it was."

Derek's jaw clenches as he looks away. His shoulders are tense, spine curved like he's readying himself for a blow. "You're not the one who had a relationship with an Argent and gave her all the information she needed to set it up."

Clint blinks. "Ah, Jesus, Derek." He closes his eyes, a fuckton of all new regrets washing over him. "You've been blaming yourself, this whole time?"

Derek stays stubbornly silent, but it's clear when Clint looks over at him again that that's exactly what he's been doing. _Fuck_.

"Kid, you were fifteen years old. You didn't even know how to talk to women, you had no defense against someone like Kate. And they'd been looking for payback for a long time. It wasn't your fault." He doesn't reach over, though it takes every ounce of control he has not to. "And for the record," he says, bracing himself, "I _was_ the one who had an affair with a _married_ Argent. And I sure as hell knew what I was doing, and I was stupid enough to do it anyway."

Derek stares at him, eyes wide and jaw dropped. It would almost be a funny picture if it wasn't so goddamn painful. "You…what? When? _What?_ "

Clint flinches, wishing he could just will himself smaller, maybe small enough to disappear entirely. "Yeah. Family curse, maybe?" It's a weak joke, in a situation that really isn't meant for jokes at all, but then, that's one of Clint's specialties. "You still had your baby teeth and hadn't even started school yet, no way you could've known. No one else did."

Derek still seems virtually speechless. "Shit, Clinton."

The name makes Clint cringe again. "Clint. I go by Clint now."

"Sorry," Derek says, and he actually seems to mean it. He rubs a hand over his face, looking exhausted. "I can't believe you're even alive. When Laura became an alpha, we just figured… I don't even know what to think right now."

"I went omega because I didn't know how to deal with everything," Clint admits. "I never should've left you two alone, maybe if I hadn't then –"

"Shut up," Derek cuts in with a growl. "Shut the hell up. She would hate you blaming yourself for…for _that_. Maybe the fire…maybe that's on both of us, but Laura's death is on Peter." He looks like he's trying to convince himself as much as Clint. Clint wonders how that's working out for him.

"Okay, kid," he says, trying to sound like he means it. He knows it's at least partly his fault, though, for leaving his little sister to take on a burden she wasn't prepared for. For leaving her to look after Derek all on her own at the same time.

There's nothing he can do to rewrite the past, though, and there's no making amends for what happened. He knows that. No matter how much good he does as an Avenger, he's always going to have that red in his ledger.

"You weren't going to tell me, were you?" Derek asks suddenly. "You didn't come here planning to have any contact at all."

"No," Clint admits. "Not at first." He's sorry for that, too, because Derek deserves better. Christ, he deserves so much better than this. But clearly, Clint's always been a bit of a coward. "But I'm glad that— I mean. You. Damn it, you're still my brother, Derek. I still love you." It's so much harder to say than it should be, no matter how true it is.

Derek nods slowly, eyeing Clint like he thinks he might disappear any second. He doesn't even blink. "Me too," he finally says, and all of a sudden he looks so much like the little brother Clint remembers, shy and hopeful and painfully, _brutally_ young, that it knocks the breath from Clint's lungs.

Clint ducks his head because he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to accept what Derek is offering him in spite of everything, but when Derek inches closer and nudges him in the side, he doesn't hesitate to sling an arm around him, tugging Derek in close and burying his face in his shoulder. Derek clings to him, hands fisted in the back of Clint's shirt, and neither of them says anything else for a long time.

The drive back to the motel is easier than the ride out had been. Clint relaxes back in his seat, breathing easier than he has since he first got on the jet to Beacon Hills. He isn't exactly sure what happens now, but at least he knows Derek doesn't hate him. They'll probably never get back the closeness they had when they were all one big happy family, but it's something. It's a lot more than Clint ever thought he'd get back.

Derek is quiet now, eyes firmly fixed on the road, eyebrows drawn together and frown firmly in place. Clint thinks he's embarrassed by his display of vulnerability, which is fine. Clint gets it. Derek's been trying to fill a role he doesn't know how to for months now. Being Alpha doesn't allow much room for emotional weakness, and Derek's pack is so young. He probably thinks he has to be strong for them all the time, never allowing himself a second of reprieve. It's got to be exhausting.

They pull up outside the motel and sit in silence for a long moment, before Derek finally asks, "How long are you staying?" His voice is gruff, hands clenched around the steering wheel.

Clint shrugs. "How long do you want me to?"

Derek glares out the window, possibly trying to set the tree in front of them on fire with the power of his mind. "You won't stay that long."

Which Clint reads between the lines and takes to mean, _Forever. I want you as part of my pack again_. His chest seizes tight and he has to swallow around the ball in his throat before he can try to speak. "I…kid, I can't…" He takes a breath, reaches out and grasps Derek's shoulder because he can see Derek shutting down, closing himself off again, and he doesn't want that. God, he doesn't want that. "When I said I went omega, that wasn't a lie," he says slowly. "But now I've got…it's a pack, okay? In all the ways that count. They're my pack, and I can't leave them. My _mate_ can't leave them."

Something in Derek's eyes clears, and his gaze shifts to the motel, most of its windows still darkened in the early-morning sunlight. "He's your mate?" he asks.

Clint sighs, letting his hand fall away again. "Yeah. He found me, in New York. I was in a bad place, and he…made it bearable. Gave me something to live for again." He swallows again, remembering that dark time in his life, the year just after the fire, when he thought so often and so hard about just ending it. Ending everything. "I don't know where I'd be without him."

Derek nods slowly. "He's human."

"It works for us." Clint allows himself a tiny smile, because it's hard to think of Phil for too long without letting some of his happiness show. "He keeps me anchored." He punches Derek in the arm, gently. "Besides, you forget, I met your overprotective human pack member. I get the feeling that kid could give any wolf a run for its money."

Derek snorts. "Stiles thinks he's a lot more badass than he actually is."

Even with the sun just barely coming up over the horizon, Clint can't miss the flush creeping its way up Derek's neck, but he knows better than to comment on it, especially with things so fragile and new between them. Either way, it's clear this Stiles character is important to Derek, which proves his point because Derek doesn't let people in easy. "Look, I'll be around for a little while, anyway," he finally says, smoothly changing the subject. "I mean, if it's cool with you and your pack. I want you to meet Phil, at least. And I wanna know you're okay before I take off."

The look Derek shoots him looks like it should come packaged with both a growl and an eyeroll. "I'm fine," he grunts.

"Uh huh," Clint replies, nodding agreeably. "And I believe you." Mostly. "I still want to make sure."

Now Derek does roll his eyes, but there's something in them that Clint just barely manages to catch. A glint of apprehension, something that has Derek worried and trying to hide it. "Fine," he says shortly. "I guess it couldn't hurt for you to meet the pack if you wanted to."

"If the offer's open, then yeah. Definitely." Another honor he isn't sure he deserves but which he's fully prepared to take advantage of. Then he hesitates. "Uh. Your pack. It include the Argent girl?"

"That's a little complicated right now," Derek says, then eyes him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

Clint cringes. This is not something he wants to get into right now. "Nothing, really, just. What's your relationship like with Chris?"

Derek shrugs, obviously choosing to ignore the lie he must have clearly heard in Clint's heartbeat. "We help each other out sometimes, usually as a last resort. He came through once when no one really expected it; we've had a truce since then. Allison's on shaky terms with the pack, but it's been better lately. If you're worried Chris is going to come after you, you don't have to, but I'll talk to him if you want."

"No, I should probably do that myself." That'll be a happy conversation, Clint thinks darkly. But if he's going to be in Beacon Hills for any length of time, it's unavoidable. He can't give the hunter a reason to go after the pack because of Clint's own fuck-ups, which means owning up to them.

Now Derek does look worried. "Clinton… _Clint_. If you have a history with him, I'd feel a lot better going myself."

"Thanks," Clint says, meaning it. "But this is something I have to do. I'm mostly sure he won't try to kill me." And, well, if he does, it's not like Clint doesn't have it coming.

"Comforting." Derek sighs. "Fine. Just call me before you do. And after. I still don't get why –" He stops short, brows furrowing. Clint can practically see the puzzle pieces coming together in his mind. Derek's not an idiot. Clint closes his eyes, resigned, and sure enough… "Holy shit."

"Not now, Derek," Clint says through gritted teeth.

"But you— She's your –"

"Not _now_ ," Clint says again, and this time he adds a warning growl. Alpha or not, this isn't something Derek's going to force out of him before he's damn well ready. And damn it, he's still the oldest.

Thankfully, Derek backs off, although he's still wearing a look of wide-eyed incredulity that sets Clint's teeth on edge.

"I'm gonna go," Clint says, jerking the car handle like it's personally offended him. Bullet-fast, Derek's hand darts out to close around his arm, his expression suddenly full of anguished desperation, and Clint lets his own eyes soften. "Phil's gonna be worried, I need to get back to him. I'll call you. I promise."

The panicky glaze leaves Derek's eyes as he pulls away again, visibly self-conscious. "Okay," he says, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.

"Derek." Clint sighs when Derek doesn't even glance at him. "Stop by later, if you can get away." He glances at the rising sun and clarifies. "Uh, tomorrow would be better, since today'll probably be scrapped in favor of sleep. But you can meet Phil, we'll go out for…pancakes, or french toast or something." Anything with syrup used to be Derek's favorite. "We'll talk some more. Okay?"

Derek is silent for a long moment, a moment where Clint thinks he's going to decide to forget the whole thing, decide he really doesn’t want anything to do with the brother who abandoned him. But finally he releases a slow breath and nods. "I'll be here."

Clint smiles gratefully, exiting the car and pushing the door closed more gently than is really necessary. Barely has time to jump out of the way before Derek speeds off, leaving the acrid smell of burning rubber in his wake.

Phil is in bed, propped up against a pile of pillows with his laptop open on his lap. Clint sheds his clothes and crawls under the covers, curling around Phil with an arm over his chest and his nose buried in his side, and it finally feels like he can relax.

Phil glances down at him with a fond smile, one hand already carding through Clint's hair. "Still alive, I see."

"Mmph." Clint closes his eyes, nuzzling closer. "Sleep now. Talk later." He already knows Phil wouldn't have gone back to sleep without him when Clint left, which means he's got to be as exhausted as Clint is.

"Okay," Phil agrees easily, closing his computer and placing it carefully on the bedside table. Then he tosses a couple of his pillows on the floor and tugs Clint in so that Clint is using his chest as a pillow, legs tangled together and heartbeats synching.

"S'this a bad idea?" Clint asks, his words slurring together with how tired he is.

"No," Phil murmurs softly. "I think this is exactly what you need."

Clint falls asleep before he can ask how Phil knows.

It's mid-afternoon by the time Clint wakes again. The bed beside him is empty but still warm, so Phil hasn't been up for long. Clint stretches, listening to the sound of the shower running and the drip of coffee percolating across the room.

It feels like a good day, it feels like a _really_ good day, even if it's already half over. Which is why he really hates the idea of ruining it with a trip to the Argent house. But some things can't be avoided.

Still, when Phil comes out of the steam-filled bathroom with a towel around his waist and a smile in his eyes, Clint decides that some things can at the very least be postponed a little. He grins up at Phil, folding his arms back behind his head and raising an eyebrow invitingly.

For his trouble, Phil whaps him with the towel, leaving Clint making an undignified squawking sound as he flails his way out of the bed and makes a grab for the offensive item, intent on getting revenge. Phil winks at him and darts away, and of course the only thing Clint can do is give chase. They run around the room like they're kids, Clint leaping over the bed and launching himself across the room on the rolling desk chair, and Phil laughs at him like it's the best thing in the world.

It doesn't take long for Clint to finally catch him (although it's blatantly obvious that Phil _lets_ himself get caught). Clint pins him up against the wall and breathes in his scent like it's a drug. They're both naked, hardening against each other because there's no way to _stop_ his body from responding to Phil, and he knows it's the same in reverse, but this isn't really about sex. Right now, it's just about the moment, about how free he feels, how _light_. It's been a long time since he felt this way, and he takes a long time to just enjoy it before he finally lifts his head and stares down at his mate.

Phil kisses him then, soft and slow like they have all the time in the world, like he knows exactly what Clint's thinking in that moment, what he's craving. Clint loses himself in the feeling so thoroughly that he doesn't even realizes he's being guided back to the bed until he falls back on it, Phil leaning over him with a glint in his eye Clint recognizes.

Clint responds by yanking Phil down, claiming his mouth in another kiss, fiercer this time, hungrier. Without waiting for permission, he wraps his legs around Phil's waist, laughing when Phil bits down on his lip in retaliation.

They roll together toward the middle of the bed, hands already moving everywhere, desperation climbing.

The day, Clint decides, is still young enough, still beautiful, still good. He can take this time and make the most of it.

"Damn you," Clint says later, nestled snug against Phil, wrapped up in his arms in the very best way. "Now I don't want to move."

Phil kisses the top of his head. "Sorry," he says, sounding way too smug to be sorry at all.

Clint sighs. "I have to go talk to Argent. Putting it off is just gonna make me chicken out."

"You never chicken out, even when it's the smart thing to do." Phil scoffs, shaking his head. "I don't think you actually know how."

Clint glances up at him. "You sayin' I shouldn't go?" he asks.

"No," Phil sighs. "I think you need to, for your own peace of mind if nothing else. That doesn't mean I like the idea of you being alone with a hardened werewolf hunter. Especially one with a reason not to like you besides the fact that you like to howl at the moon."

Clint swats at him, because he's never _howled at the moon_ , thank you very much. Especially not when Phil's in hearing distance.

"I'd rather have him go after me than have him find out I'm here later and go after my kid brother and his pack," Clint says, then tries to smile reassuringly. "I don't think he'll actually try to kill me, boss."

Phil doesn't look all that reassured. "You better have your comm on," he says, then glares when Clint rolls his eyes. "I mean it, Barton. The whole time. Promise me."

Clint darts in, kissing him hard and fast. "I promise," he says, lips quirking into a grin. "I will totally allow you to play knight in shining armor to my damsel in distress if it comes to that. Okay?"

Phil releases a slow breath, body relaxing even as his arms wrap tighter around Clint, holding him close for a long moment. "Okay."

The Argent house is big, bigger than Clint expected although it maybe shouldn't surprise him so much. It's not as big as his own childhood home was, but it's still extravagant by the standards he's come to expect in the years since. Still, the Argents have money, so maybe he shouldn't be all that surprised.

It does make the task of ringing the doorbell even more daunting then he thought it would be.

It takes an endless minute and a half for the door to be pulled open, a minute and a half where Clint is all but bouncing on the balls of his feet, staring around him like he should be expecting an attack on all sides. He wishes he could do this from someplace high, someplace he could see everything, not blocked in by houses and people and cars and trees and –

"Hale." The man in front of him mutters his once-name like a curse.

Clint swallows hard and looks up into cold blue eyes. "Argent." He doesn't reach up to rub the back of his neck, won't give Chris Argent the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. "Can we talk? Without bullets, preferably."

Chris eyes him warily, but eventually steps back from the doorway, allowing Clint to come inside. In Clint's ear, Phil's breathing is audible, his comm on, a reminder to Clint that he's there, that he has Clint's back even if Clint can't see him. It helps.

The inside of the house is just as nice as the outside, but stifling in a way Tony's ridiculous extravagance never is.

Chris shows Clint into the living room, gesturing toward a comfortable-looking chair before turning and stalking into the kitchen. "Coffee?" he calls out to Clint a few seconds later.

"Uh…" Clint blinks. "No, thanks," he manages, trying not to imagine all the things 'coffee' could be doctored with if he _were_ so inclined.

Chris comes back out, holding a mug and taking a seat opposite Clint. His eyes are still hard, edged with caution, but there's something like amusement lurking in their depths as well as he sips at his coffee that smells really fucking good. "If it's not obvious," he says, "I'm trying to prove we can all act like mature, rational adults here."

"Can we?" Clint asks bluntly.

"Well that depends." Chris sets his mug down on the coffee table, then leans back in his chair with his hands folded together in his lap. "As long as we can establish that you're not here to kill anyone and you're not here to take my daughter –"

"Wait, _what?_ " Clint jumps up, holding his hands out. "Look, that's not…I didn't even know she existed till I was already here, okay, I'm not –"

"Good," Chris cuts in, still looking altogether too calm for the situation. "Then I guess we can probably talk."

Slowly, Clint sits back down. "I gotta say, this isn't really what I expected. I means, guns, those I was prepared for. Knives, maybe. Mace laced with wolfsbane." _Fire_ , but he doesn't say that. Doesn't get the feeling Kate Argent's brother would take it well.

"Hmm." Chris's lips twitch. "Well, _I gotta say_ ," he parrots, "seeing you on the five o'clock news a year ago wasn't really what I expected, either, but it seems we've both come a long way in recent years. Hawkeye."

 _Shit_. It hadn't even occurred to him that anyone here would recognize him, which was just plain stupid. "I. Uh."

Chris takes pity on him. "Tell you what, why don't you tell me why you're here, and then I'll say the things I need to say, and then I'll tell you something your brother probably hasn't. I get the feeling you might be able to help us out with a…pest control problem."

It's just intriguing enough to capture Clint's attention, and he leans forward even as he's attempting to untangle his tongue enough to offer the apology he came here to try and give.

"An _Alpha pack_ , Derek?" Clint slams into the house like he still belongs there, doesn't even pause to let the poor sheriff's kid scramble out of the way before he's shoving Derek onto a battered couch, looming over him with a snarl like he has any right to do so. "You didn't think that was worth mentioning?"

Derek glares up at him with his arms folded, looking every bit the petulant, scowling little brother, so much so Clint catches the kid behind him unsuccessfully trying to stifle a snicker.

"They're not here anymore," Derek says, and because he seems to suddenly remember that _he's_ the Alpha, not Clint, he shoves himself back up from the couch and uses every bit of the two inches he has on Clint to stare him down.

"You mean they're not _back_ here _yet_ ," Clint growls, not backing down even a millimeter. "But they will be, because they keep coming, right?"

Derek's eyes narrow. "You talked to Chris."

Clint doesn't bother answering. "You said you were fine!"

"I am!"

"Obviously not!"

"We're handling it," Derek finally says, voice rough, arms crossed.

"Derek." Clint passes a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. "It's an Alpha pack, okay? This is a big deal. They're playing games with you because they think you're an easy target. They're moving slow because they're getting a feel for what makes you tick. What makes you _human_. And once they figure out what those things are, they're going to _decimate_ them." His eyes flick to the side of the room, where Stiles is now leaning against a wall trying to seem inconspicuous. When he looks back to Derek, his brother looks pained.

"I know," Derek bites out through clenched teeth. "But we're doing everything we can, okay? We're being careful."

"How many do you have in your pack?" Clint asks bluntly.

Derek sighs. "Six besides me, including two humans. Plus Chris and Allison."

"And Deaton," Stiles pipes up from across the room. When Clint glances at him, he ducks his head, flushing, but continues. "And for the record, it's not like the human pack members are useless, thank you very much."

"I never said you were," Derek says, rolling his eyes. To Clint, he shrugs, lowering his voice to barely a whisper. "I know we're outnumbered, and that they're stronger and faster and better, okay? But we can't run, so this is what we've got."

Clint can feel the way his eyes flash, the way his fangs lengthen as the growl rumbles out of his throat. "They're not _better_ at anything. And you're not going to be outnumbered for long."

Clint came here to make sure the last remaining member of his family was okay. He's damn well not leaving until he can be sure of it. And if that means calling in the rest of his own _pack_ …

…so be it.

"You know they'll come," Phil says, watching Clint fiddle with his phone.

"I know." That's not the problem. Of course they'll come; they'd probably come even if the Chitauri were in the middle of attacking New York again, if Clint asked. If he needed them.

Phil moves a little closer to him on the bed, just barely leaning into Clint's side. "Are you worried about what they'll say when they find out?"

Clint teeth clench. "I've been lying to them since the day they met me. Yeah, I'm a little worried."

"While I agree that lying by omission is still lying, I think you're not giving them enough credit. They'll understand, Clint."

"Even Natasha?" Clint's eyes are closed, so he can't see Phil's reaction, but he feels the way he goes very still.

"If you think Natasha doesn't still have her own secrets, you haven't been paying attention," Phil finally says.

"It's different," Clint argues stubbornly.

"Maybe," Phil says easily. "But she's your closest friend. She'll understand. In fact, I'd be very surprised if she didn't already have suspicions, knowing her."

That's true enough, but it doesn't make Clint feel much better. He flips the phone in his hand, staring at the backlit screen. Finally forces himself to push a button.

Phil takes his hand as it starts ringing. Clint squeezes, grateful for the support.

"Hawkster, my man, what can I do you for?" Tony answers, sounding upbeat. Probably working on some project or another in his garage with Bruce.

"Hey Tony. How fast do you think you can assemble the team? I need a favor."

Derek's pack is nothing like Clint expects.

Granted, he doesn't really know _what_ he was expecting; even knowing that most of the pack was made up of teenagers, it was hard to picture Derek wanting anything to do with the sorts of teenagers he used to go to school with.

What Clint finds is a ragtag bunch of kids who are all broken in different ways, who cling together and push each other away in equal measure because they don't know how to admit they need each other.

It reminds him a little too much of the Avengers, in the weeks immediately following the Chitauri incident, before they really learned to rely on each other. Clint doesn't like thinking about that time, while he was under observation at SHIELD and Phil was still recovering, but he remembers enough to know how hard it was on all of them. A whole team of people who felt like freaks, who didn't think they belonged anywhere.

Now they're family, in a way that Clint can see Derek's pack becoming if they can get through all this crap.

There's Scott, the first of the betas and, Clint can sense, the most resistant. He's not any younger than the rest, but he seems it sometimes; he's naïve in a painful sort of way. Still, he's not lacking for loyalty, and while the bond between him and the rest of the pack is fragile and new-seeming, it's definitely there. Probably a lot of that is owed to Isaac, the werewolf he seems closest with.

Isaac is quiet, but he doesn't seem to miss a thing, watching everyone in the room with a wariness he probably doesn't even know he has, something clearly leftover from his human days. He stays close to Scott and only talks when someone speaks to him directly, ducking his head like he's trying not to be noticed, although he has a ready smile that lights up his whole face when he graces someone with it.

Erica and Boyd also keep to themselves, huddled together on a corner of the couch, talking in low whispers that even Clint has trouble making out. They're twitchy, easily startled, with deep circles under their eyes that indicate a pretty serious lack of sleep. Derek watches both of them anxiously, trying not to hover and doing a bad job of it. Whatever they went through, Clint pities them, because it obviously did a number on both of them.

Lydia is human, and apparently became a part of the group after her boyfriend was turned. Clint senses there's a dramatic story hiding there, but since the boyfriend has left with his parents for places unknown and Lydia doesn't seem inclined to talk about it, he doubts he'll get to hear it. Lydia, he discovers after the first ten minutes, reminds him a bit of Natasha, without the part about being a trained assassin. She also makes up for her lack of fighting skills with elemental magic, something she and Stiles are just beginning to learn together from the local veterinarian.

Stiles is the loudest of the bunch, which Clint could have guessed from the first time he met the kid. He also never sits still, pacing the room with hands that move as he speaks, drawing the group together in conversation through sheer force of will. He's the glue, the one who doesn't take crap from anyone and who makes all of them feel safe. Even Erica and Boyd, who cringe when Derek so much as looks at them, only smile when Stiles walks behind them and leans down to ruffle Erica's hair. He and Lydia toss verbal banter back and forth like water balloons, but when Lydia thinks no one's looking, she's smiling, and Clint's pretty sure she actually secretly respects Stiles.

Chris and Allison aren't at this meeting. Which is a blessing as far as Clint's concerned, because what the hell is he supposed to say to the girl? Chris didn't tell Clint to stay away from her, didn't even warn him off telling her the truth, and in light of that, Clint has no idea what to do at all. So he's not complaining that she's not really a member of the pack, in spite of her apparent on-and-off-again-closeness with Scott, because he's happy to put that meeting off for as long as possible.

Judging by the looks Derek keeps shooting him, it's pretty obvious he knows exactly how relieved Clint is by her absence.

The rest of them don't do much to acknowledge him. There was some curiosity at first, but after Scott's first pointed question – "Are you going to kill any of us or try to become Alpha?" and his very firm reply – " _Hell_ no," they keep their curiosity mostly under wraps. A few glances when they think he isn't watching, some inquisitive whispers aimed in Derek's general direction, and that's it.

It takes Derek a while to work up to the point of this impromptu pack meeting. In fact, it isn't until Stiles finally rolls his eyes and says, "Hey, grumpy, some of us have homework, so can we maybe get going here?" that Derek finally scowls and says anything at all.

"The Alpha pack," is what he starts with, and the responses range from a groan (Scott) to a murmured expletive (Lydia) to wide-eyed terror (Erica). "If their usual pattern holds, they'll be back soon," he goes on. "The last time wasn't pretty, and we got lucky, which is the only reason no one ended up dead. So –"

"So what are we supposed to do?" Scott cuts in, his hands clenched into fists in his lap as his eyes widen. "You already have us training every other day, but it doesn't help. They don't even leave a scent trail we could follow even if we were suicidal enough to go after them."

Derek silences him with a warning growl. "If you'd let me _finish_ …" He raises an eyebrow and Scott backs down immediately, though he doesn't look happy about it. Derek continues, "We're getting some reinforcements."

Everyone's expressions sharpen at that, and Stiles' glance immediately goes to Clint. Smart kid. Clint answers with a smile that's all teeth.

"More wolves?" Scott asks, mouth quirking unhappily. "How do we know we can trust them?"

"Not wolves," Clint says quietly. Now even Derek's looking at him curiously. "Except for me. These guys are my team. I live with them, work with them regularly. They're my closest friends. They're my pack, but they're not wolves. And I happen to think they're pretty trustworthy."

"More humans will just mean more people to get hurt," Isaac speaks up for the first time.

"Never said they were human, either." Clint grins a little. "Well, Nat is, but lemme tell you something about that girl, she would not take kindly to being called just human. She can take me in a fight even on her worst day. And Tony's still all human despite his best efforts, but he doesn't really count either. Just…trust me on that one."

Stiles is watching him, head tilted like he's trying to dissect Clint with the power of his stare alone. Curiosity and suspicion warring in his eyes, and then they narrow. "Team. You said _team_ first. And…not human, except for… And Tony, and Clint, and Nat, short for Natasha, and _oh my God_." His caramel-colored eyes are very wide now, mouth gaping as he jumps up and points a dramatic finger at Clint.

Clint, for his part, leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and resting his feet on top of the battered coffee table, and he grins. "That was fast," he says.

"The Avengers?" Stiles whispers. "You're bringing _the Avengers_ here? _Here?_ "

And now the rest of the group is definitely sitting up and taking notice, gazes whipping back and forth between Clint and Stiles with varying expressions of disbelief.

Clint's grin widens, and he shrugs. "They got nothing better going on right now. Why not?" Then he slides his gaze sheepishly over to his brother, who's staring at him with carefully controlled shock. "Um. Surprise?"

Derek looks downright murderous now. "Everyone out. Now."

The pack scrambles, with the notable exception of Stiles, who shoves himself into a corner, probably hoping Derek won't notice. Which is entirely possible, given the way Derek's eyes are glowing and he looks like he's seconds away from ripping Clint's throat out with his teeth.

Clint sighs, suddenly wishing he'd brought Phil with him after all. He thinks he could use the backup.

"Look, it's not like I didn't want to tell you, but how would you even start that conversation?" Clint asks, trying not to fidget.

"Oh, I don't know," Derek growls. "Something like, 'Hey, bro, long time no see, been kind of busy saving the world with this team of superheroes I'm a part of!' maybe?"

Clint's snort of disbelief masks Stiles making the same sound, which is probably the only reason Derek doesn't turn that terrifying gaze on him. "Seriously? Would you even have believed me?"

"That's not the point. Why didn't I know about this? _Everyone_ knows about the Avengers, I should have –"

"Derek." Clint puts a hand on Derek's arm, doesn't remove it even when Derek's glare drops back and forth between it and Clint's face with incredulity. "It's my job not to get noticed. Steve and Tony and Thor, they're the faces of the operation. Even Bruce when he's hulked out. Me and Nat, we try to stay out of the spotlight. Frankly, it surprises me that people even remember my codename when they think of the Avengers, and unless you were glued to a TV set during the battle in New York, my face doesn't get around much." For which Clint will never _not_ be grateful. He doesn't need the fame, thanks. "I'm actually more shocked your boy there put it together at all."

"Hey now!" Stiles says before he remembers he's supposed to be staying quiet. He looks so torn between annoyance at being called Derek's anything and pleasure at being recognized for his brilliance that Clint has to smother an inappropriate snort of laughter.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Stiles is a closet geek with a special affinity for superheroes, of course he put it together. He also _shouldn't still be here_ ," he says, directing the last bit over his shoulder but, Clint notes, not actually making Stiles leave. "I just… Shit, Clinton, what am I supposed to do with this?"

Clint shrugs, dropping his gaze to the floor. "Derek, this is why I can't… You know I'd stay if I wasn't… It's important, y'know? And they're…they really are my pack now."

"Do _they_ know that?" Derek asks shrewdly.

"They will soon enough," Clint answers, pasting on a grin he doesn't entirely feel. Before Derek can reply, there's a knock at the door that makes Clint all but sag in relief when he catches the scent. "Phil," he sighs. "Can I…"

Derek doesn't look thrilled, but he shrugs, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and nodding Clint toward the door even as he moves to stand closer to Stiles.

Phil's wearing a bland smile when Clint opens the door, and he shrugs a little. "Will you be at all surprised if I tell you I was watching the house and saw everyone leave and got a little bit concerned?"

"Nope." Clint tugs him inside, draping an arm over his shoulders to soak in the warmth of Phil's skin and the comfort of his scent as he leads him back to Derek and Stiles.

"Phil, this is my brother Derek and one of the members of his pack, Stiles," Clint introduces, not releasing his hold because he needs Phil to steady him right now. Phil's arm sneaks around his waist and squeezes, telling Clint that Phil, as usual, knows exactly what he needs.

"Good to meet you," Phil tells them, smiling more genuinely now. "I'm Phil Coulson, Clint's partner. Sorry to interrupt."

"No worries," Stiles says before Derek can get a word in. "Better you than my dad. Last time was _not_ fun. Hey, so, I bet you're with SHIELD, aren't you?"

Phil blinks. "That's…classified?" he tries, glancing at Clint with a look that clearly says, _Really?_

"It's the suit, isn't it?" Clint says, grinning at Stiles and shaking his head. "Dead giveaway." He pulls Phil closer, kissing the spot just behind his ear before Phil can turn that unimpressed look his way.

Derek eyes Phil for a long moment before he finally reaches out and shakes his hand. "Thank you," he says quietly. "For taking care of my brother."

Phil's expression softens, and he holds Derek's grip for a beat longer than he normally would. "It's been my privilege to know him and to be a part of his life," he tells Derek, his heartbeat steady in Clint's ears, making Clint flush warmly. He buries his face in Phil's neck and reminds himself to breathe. When he glances up again, Derek is watching him with a barely-there smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"So when are they getting here?" Stiles asks, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet as he tramples all over the moment. (Secretly, Clint is very grateful to him for that.)

Phil glances at his phone. "ETA on Tony's plane is eight a.m," he says, glancing at Clint. "They were going to commandeer a quinjet, but I convinced them we weren't in quite that big of a hurry. I hope that's all right."

Clint and Derek share a glance, and Derek nods. "The Alpha pack is on the move, but they haven't crossed into our territory yet or we'd have had warning. We should have a couple days before they get here, if their usual pattern holds."

Time enough for the spilling of some long-held secrets then, Clint thinks with a heavy sigh.

Phil's hand finds his, closing around it and squeezing gently, like Phil knows exactly what he's thinking and is trying to reassure him that it'll all be okay. To Derek, he asks, "How many times have they done this already?"

"Five," Stiles answers for him. "They come with the full moon, stay for a week wreaking lots of quiet havoc, then leave."

"Testing you," Clint says. When Derek nods, he growls. "Cowards. And it would be a nice bonus if they got the local hunters thinking it was your pack, I bet."

"We think that was their original plan," Derek admits. "I don't think they planned on Chris Argent and I having an open line of communication."

Stiles snorts. "You _wouldn't_ have if it wasn't for me," he says grouchily. "Remember how much you snarled when I first suggested it?"

Derek rolls his eyes. Clint can tell Phil is having a hard time keeping his smile hidden.

"Anyway, they won't keep testing for long," Derek tells Phil and Clint. "We've been expecting a full-out attack any time now. Six months is a long time for them to focus on any pack, especially a small one like this."

"Small pack, but lots of territory," Clint notes. "Too much to risk fucking it up. They've been after this area for a long time." There's a twinge in his chest when he remembers long hours spent eavesdropping on his parents. He'd barely been a teenager himself, Derek not even out of diapers yet. The Alpha pack had come sniffing around then, but the Hale pack had been strong, too strong for them, with too many allies, and they'd known it.

Phil looks back and forth between them, considering. "This pack, they have a fair amount of influence? They're well-known in the werewolf community?"

Derek shrugs. "Depends on your perspective I guess. There's more than one Alpha pack. They enforce what pass for laws among werewolves, especially when it comes to secrecy. But Deucalion's pack in particular…you won't find too many wolves in the States who haven't at least heard something about them. They're ruthless. Good at taking what they want." His fists are clenched at his sides.

"All that means is it's gonna be twice as fun kicking their asses," Clint says hotly.

"Hear, hear." Stiles' grin, when he looks at Derek, is downright wolfish. Clint doesn't miss the way Stiles' hand brushes Derek's arm, or the way his brother relaxes under the touch, leaning into it so minutely a human could never notice.

Somehow though, he doesn't think Stiles misses it either.

There's probably more they need to discuss, but Clint's exhausted, and he has a lot of shit he needs to consider about a lot of conversations he needs to have, and all he wants to do right now is fall into bed and cuddle with Phil.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, I have to talk with my team when they get here, but why don't we change our breakfast plans tomorrow to lunch? Show up around noon, and you can meet them yourself?" It'll be good for Derek, the Alpha, to meet the team first. Give them a little time to get used to the idea of werewolves without overwhelming them too fast.

Stiles makes a little sound in his throat, an aborted protest that he cuts off abruptly before flushing deep red.

Phil gives Clint an amused look. "I don't know, I think maybe we have room for _one_ more, at least."

Well, it's not like Stiles can contribute to overwhelming them with werewolves when he's not a wolf himself. "Yeah, I guess we could probably squeeze the kid in," he says, crossing his arms and smirking at Stiles, who's jaw is hanging open as he stares at them with no small amount of hero-worship.

"Really?" he breathes. " _Really?_ "

"Long as Derek doesn't mind," Clint says with a shrug. "Can't see why not."

"Derek doesn't mind!" Stiles says, loudly and forcefully, glaring hard at Derek before he can protest.

"Good enough for me," Clint says cheerfully. Derek blinks, then sighs, shaking his head in resignation.

"Whatever," he grunts, cuffing Stiles on the back of his head. "Geek."

Stiles looks like he's going to hyperventilate with joy any moment, which is enough of a cue for Clint. "Ready to go, boss?" he asks Phil tiredly.

Phil nods, leaning forward to shake hands with Derek again (and with Stiles, who still looks mostly dazed) before he ushers Clint out the door. Just before it closes behind them, Derek stops Clint with a hand on his arm. Clint turns back, eyeing his brother curiously.

Derek doesn't say anything for a long moment, eyebrows furrowed with whatever is going on in his head, but then his eyes clear and he gives Clint the barest hint of a smile. "See you tomorrow, Clint," he says softly.

Clint's heart gives a hard thump in his chest. "Tomorrow."

_Tomorrow_ comes far too soon for Clint's taste. He feels like he's only just closed his eyes when the alarm is already going off, and by the time Phil starts watching for the two rental cars he knows will be pulling up any minute, Clint is still barely functional or coherent.

Christ, after the last couple days, Clint is really starting to appreciate his relatively stress-free life as an Avenger.

The irony isn't lost on him.

Tony doesn't have an ounce of restraint when it comes to anything at all, so it's no surprise when he pulls up in the flashiest car imaginable. Even Clint, who doesn't know jack shit about cars, appreciates the sleek lines and the rumbling purr of the thing parking in the lot just outside their window. The second car, driven by Natasha, is far more subtle, dark and compact, with tinted windows and chrome accents. Classy and quiet and probably just as vicious as she is underneath the hood.

Clint can practically hear the eye-roll Phil doesn't actually give into. He grins at him, knowing Phil secretly enjoys their antics as much as he does, and opens the door to greet his team.

Natasha reaches him first, crossing her arms and looking him up and down before she raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "You seem to still be in one piece," she says. "So I suppose that's something. Are you going to invite me in?"

"Since when do you wait for an invitation?" Clint scoffs.

Her lips curve up into a smirk and she shoves past him, murmuring a greeting to Phil and perching on the chair by the desk.

The rest follow quickly, and in a few minutes the whole team is spread out in the room that suddenly seems a lot more cramped than it had yesterday. Tony makes himself at home sprawled across the bed while Bruce takes the chair by the window. Steve and Thor always seem more at ease while standing during discussions, and Clint decides to follow their lead for once since this is his show. Phil leans a hip against the desk, folding his arms and giving Clint a warm, supportive look.

"I appreciate you guys making the trip out here so quick," Clint says, rubbing the back of his neck. He hates being the center of attention, and having six pairs of eyes fixed on him is already making him jittery.

"Hey, any excuse for a party," Tony says with a grin, leaning his elbows back against the pillows and waggling his eyebrows over the ridiculous sunglasses he's wearing.

"Tony said you didn't tell him much about what was going on," Steve says. "But whatever we can do to help, you know you can count on us."

Clint smiles at him gratefully. "I know, and believe me, I appreciate it. My brother has kind of a situation here, and I can't leave until I know it's been handled. Little brothers, you know, they get into all kinds of trouble, and…" He trails off when he sees Thor nodding, looking downcast. Clears his throat uncomfortably. "Anyway. I've been a shitty big brother for a while now and I need to fix that. So I'm really glad you guys are here, because I don't think I could do it alone."

"What sort of trouble is he in?" Bruce asks, head tilted. "If it's something you needed our help for, it must be something big."

"Oooh, is it a drug cartel?" Tony asks brightly. "Or gang wars? Some big Mafioso thing he can't go to the cops with?"

Clint snorts. "Actually, that's…closer to the truth than you might think." Sort of. He takes a breath. His heart is loud and unsteady in his own ears, and he's grateful the rest of them can't hear it like he can hear theirs. "So uh, what do you guys know about werewolves?"

He's up on the roof when Natasha finds him after, legs dangling over the edge, elbows on his knees and hands clasped as he stares out towards the forest. Derek will be here soon, but Clint needed a few minutes to himself, wrung out from two solid hours of explanations and his team's disbelief that had eventually morphed into incredulity on all sides. He doesn't know – and doesn't care to guess – how they're feeling about it now. He'd left them silent and staring at each other in the room ten minutes ago, shot a look at Phil he knew his mate would be able to interpret just fine, and made his escape while he could.

Clint didn't even hear her come up, but he doesn't so much as twitch when Natasha sits down beside him. He doesn't look at her, either, because he's too much of a coward to want to know what expression she's wearing. Which is maybe why he startles badly when her slim hand comes down on his arm, the soft touch an uncharacteristic gesture of reassurance.

"Clint," she says, and there's the disapproval, sharp in her tone.

He very slowly turns his head and slides his gaze to meet hers. "Nat," he replies, as evenly as he can.

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head and pinching something in his arm that hurts a lot more than a pinch should, making him wince. "Idiot," she mutters, but it comes out sounding fond. "Everything we've seen, and you thought this would be the thing to drive me away? I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, Agent Barton."

He makes a face at her, but has to duck away from her gaze when it becomes too knowing.

"Clint," she says again, and this time her hand is at his cheek, gently turning him back to face her. Sliding her hand back into his hair, she pulls him down so she can press a kiss to his forehead. "We are family, you and I," she tells him. "No amount of dog-breath will change that." Her eyes are glittering with mirth when he pulls back to glare at her in mock outrage. She shrugs, unapologetic. "I had to use it before Stark had the chance."

There's a tightness in his chest he doesn't acknowledge, some intense mixture of relief and gratitude and love, all things he's felt for Natasha in one way or another many times in the past, but never quite this potent. "I don't…" He trails off, because he doesn't know the words he wants to say, and instead tugs her to him in a bone-crushing hug.

She holds him close for a long time, longer than she would normally be inclined to, before she finally pulls away. "Now," she says, closing her hands around his. "Tell me what you didn't tell the rest of them."

Clint curses all the ways in which Natasha knows him too well. He bites back a sigh, staring moodily down at the parking lot below them. Natasha doesn't push, just continues holding his hands for long moments while he gathers himself, until finally he can't help but just blurt it out. "I have a daughter."

There's no outward sign that Natasha is in any way shocked by this news, but he knows her well enough to see that he's surprised her. Still, she stays silent.

"She isn't…I didn't even know," Clint grits out. "I thought the woman I had the affair with –" He shakes his head. "But she kept the kid, her and her husband, and this girl is…she's something else, Nat. Smart and strong and willful, doesn't take bullshit from anyone."

"She sounds like someone else I know," Natasha says, softly.

Clint feels one side of his mouth twitch up in a reluctant grin. "Yeah, maybe." He frowns again. "I don't have the guts to meet her. She…her dad seems surprisingly okay with it, with me seeing her, telling her, but he won't push one way or another. And she…Jesus, Nat, this girl just had her whole world turned upside down not too long ago, and she still hates my brother, blames him for getting her mom killed, and I mean, how am I supposed to get around that, you know?" He doesn't tell her about the other things Chris told him, about how Allison went off the deep end for a while, almost helped kill the entire pack. He figures she's technically a Hale, and they're all allowed at least one pass for doing something stupid and fucked up, especially since Chris also said she's been better, going to therapy and trying to make amends ever since.

Except to Derek, because even if she's made her apologies to the rest of the pack and is trying to be on better terms with them, her hatred of Derek runs deep. Even though Chris has explained to her (and to Clint) why Derek bit Victoria, why they were fighting in the first place. Allison needs someone to blame, and Derek is a convenient target.

Clint gets it, he does.

He just thinks it's pretty _in_ convenient for him.

"Hmm." Natasha squeezes his hands, prompting him to look at her. "I think, if this girl is as smart and capable as you and her father believe, then she should have the chance to know the truth. She lost someone she loved, yes, and that's a terrible thing for any young girl. But perhaps she has the chance now to gain someone new?"

The sigh does escape this time, before Clint can stop it. "Maybe," he says, although he isn't sure he believes it. "But hell, what do I know about being a dad, anyway?"

"It sounds to me like she has a father already," Natasha says. "Maybe what she really needs is a friend. And speaking of friends…" She raises one delicate eyebrow at him, ignoring his wince. "Come on, Barton. Time to face the music."

With Natasha, the only thing you can do is go along with whatever she tells you to do. So Clint steels himself and does exactly that.

"Hey, you're back," Tony says, looking up as Clint and Natasha enter the room. He's still on the bed, currently bent over a tablet with Bruce on one side and Steve on the other peering over his shoulders at it. "Where'd ya go?"

Clint shrugs, flopping down onto the chair Bruce left vacated. "Roof," he admits.

Bruce peers over at him. "Everything okay?" he asks, gently.

Tony rolls his eyes. "Obviously wolf-boy was having a freak-out, needed to have his head smacked around for being stupid, and now all is well." He raises an eyebrow at Natasha, who shrugs and responds with, "More or less."

"Traitor," Clint mutters at her. She smiles unrepentantly.

"You know we don't care, right?" Steve asks, looking so genuine it's actually sort of painful. "None of us are exactly normal, Clint. Being a werewolf…that's nothing to be ashamed of, and I'm really glad you were able to tell us."

"We all are," Bruce agrees with a nod. When Tony stays silent, busy tapping away on his tablet, Bruce pokes him none-too-gently in the side.

"Hmm, what?" Tony looks up, scowling. "Oh, you. Still freaking out? Listen, Barton, it's not even that big a surprise, I mean, I always knew there was som—Ow!" He rubs his forehead, glaring down at the little rubber ball that just came out of nowhere and smacked him. (Natasha, across the room, is innocently inspecting her fingernails.)

Clint finds himself laughing helplessly. "Okay, all right, fine, if you guys are sure this won't…be a problem, or anything. I'm glad."

Thor steps up beside him, places a broad hand on Clint's shoulder. "You are our shield brother," he says simply. "A bit of magic in your blood does not change that."

Clint has the best damn team. He lets his eyes meet Phil's across the room, isn't really surprised to find Phil smiling warmly at him, no small amount of pride in all of them in his gaze.

Derek has always been wary of strangers, was that way even when he was a kid, but the sheer amount of suspicion he's staring around with now is frankly ridiculous. These are, after all, bona fide heroes, ones who have saved the world a couple times now. Since they've also saved Clint's ass more than once, Clint thinks Derek should really be giving them the benefit of the doubt here.

But nope, there Derek sits, staring at each of them in turn like he's trying to see under their skin to whatever evil plots he thinks they must be cooking up.

Tony may deserve that look, let's be honest, but the rest of them don't, and Clint is glaring at Derek just as hard as Derek is glaring at them until Natasha sighs loudly. "I see this is a family trait," she mutters, and only raises an eyebrow at Derek when he turns all twenty thousand volts of that glower on her.

"What is?" he asks her after a long pause.

"Stupid stubbornness," is her prompt reply, and across the room, Phil snorts, hastily turning it into a cough when Clint stares at him in betrayal.

Beside Derek, Stiles, who's practically been bouncing in place ever since they passed introductions around, rolls his eyes. "He's just being a grouch because you stole his brother," he tells them, and ignores Derek's growl to continue with, "It's a pack thing. I'm sure no offense was intended, I mean, it's not like you _knew_ Clint would see you guys as a sort-of pack and let himself get adopted into it, but grouchy here is fighting his instincts that tell him otherwise."

Derek is still glaring, still growling lowly, but the tips of his ears have gone red and his arms are now crossed over his chest like a protective shield. He's very pointedly not looking anywhere in Clint's direction.

Jesus.

"Derek –" Clint starts, but a warning growl cuts him off abruptly.

"Not now," Derek says. He visibly reins himself in, swats Stiles upside the head (gently), and tries to tone down his glare. A little.

Clint stares at him for a long moment, and his team is looking back and forth between them like they're one of Bruce and Tony's particularly intriguing lab experiments, but it's okay. It's all okay, because Clint is just going to ignore this for now. He's not going to let it faze him, and he's definitely not going to think about the guilt simmering just under his skin. Really.

Stiles clears his throat loudly, nudging Derek's shoulder in a less-than-surreptitious manner. "So. Alpha pack. Bad guys. Plans for blowing things up. Yes?" Clearly trying to get some of the tension to dissipate, and yeah, Clint can't help but be grateful. Derek also looks fairly relieved.

"Right," Derek says. "So what is the plan?"

Stiles nudges him again, harder this time. " _Duh_ , Derek, obviously the Avengers are going to kick ass and take names and make it so we can stop running for our lives every ten seconds. 'Cause that's what they _do_." There's a lot more hero-worship in his tone than Clint thinks his co-workers (or he) really deserve.

Tony is wearing a big grin. "This kid is awesome," he says. "Can we keep him?"

A low growl works its way out of Derek's throat, and off to the side, Steve actually facepalms.

"No, really!" Tony continues, unconcerned. "He could be like our mascot."

Stiles, because he obviously has no sense of self-preservation, flails happily. "Dude, _Tony Stark_ thinks I'm awesome." His smile is wide enough to split his face.

Derek's growl gets louder. Clint almost thinks he should feel sorry for him, except not really. He smirks instead.

All in all, it takes them a little while to actually get to the planning part of the meeting.

Clint slips out while Derek begins (finally) tentatively discussing strategies with the team, Stiles at his side listening carefully to every word. Phil gives Clint a discreet nod, a silent promise to fill Clint in on anything important discussed in his absence. He probably knows exactly where Clint is headed, even though Clint only just realized it was something he had to do now, himself. Probably thanks to his talk with Natasha, which has lingered in his head ever since it happened.

He takes the car because it gives him more time to think, but halfway to the Argent house, his leg is jittery and he feels a little like he's crawling out of his skin and he wishes he'd just decided to run. _Thinking_ is clearly an overrated pastime.

Chris is waiting by the front door when Clint pulls up. Almost like he knew Clint was coming, which is, yeah, a little bit creepy, and Clint knows from _creepy_.

"She's at the preserve," Chris tells him when he climbs out of the car. "Running."

"How'd you –"

Chris raises an eyebrow, cutting Clint off as effectively as a bullet between the eyes. He sighs. "Allison has known for years now that I'm not her biological father. It's never mattered to her, or to me. And a year ago, I might have been content to leave it at that, to make sure she never knew who – what – she came from." He pauses, then sets his jaw. "A lot can change in a year."

"So you're really okay with…" Clint trails off, not really sure what he means to say, all of a sudden.

"Sheltering Allison won't protect her," Chris says, looking like he's about to add more before he ruthlessly cuts himself off, and all of a sudden, Clint gets it.

"You think that knowing about me, accepting me, will help her accept Derek's pack." Be _part_ of Derek's pack, Clint doesn't say, but it's so obvious now, and the steel in Chris's eyes just verifies it.

"I'd take her away from this life if I could, but it's in her blood in more ways than one, and it's already marked her. She'd never accept that now. I'm just one hunter without family and without friends these days. I'm not enough to protect her." Chris gazes at Clint shrewdly. "But Derek, for all his faults, has a pack, and they're loyal. And you, you have a team of people with superhuman abilities at your back, a team who even now is creating ties with that same pack. I want Allison _safe_ , and as far as I can tell, letting you into her life is the best way to accomplish that."

There's a long pause while Clint processes all that. He wonders how long it took Chris to come to that realization, how many sleepless nights he spent trying to come up with something, anything, else. In the end, though, it doesn't matter, because he's absolutely right. And hell, at this point, it wouldn't matter if he didn't want Clint in her life, Clint would still find every way under the sun to protect her if it came down to it. So in the end, he can only nod. "Okay then."

Clint leaves the car parked at the edge of the preserve, next to Allison's, and follows her scent along the trails that carefully stay away from the Hale family property. It's obvious that she's wary of trespassing while on such shaky ground with the pack. He has to respect her restraint, because it's equally obvious that she's curious and wants to go by the house, maybe check on the people who could be there.

He finds her as she's taking a break, sitting on a boulder and re-lacing her sneakers. Her head snaps up as soon as he gets close enough for human ears to notice, and even as he drinks in the sight of her, cataloguing all the little features he didn't expect to recognize in her, he holds his hands up to show that he's friendly. Or at least unarmed. Her eyes immediately narrow.

"You're Hawkeye," she says, and it's not even a guess, like if you thought you saw an actor you recognized in a grocery store. She just _knows_ , instantly.

"Guilty," he acknowledges, surprised. "You're fast, even people in New York who are used to the Avengers hanging around at least give me the benefit of a double-take."

She shrugs. "Someone that good with a bow turns up in a team of superheroes, the archery world is going to notice." Her lips quirk. "I'm pretty good with faces, and I used to have your picture as the wallpaper on my phone."

Clint can't help the pout. "Used to?"

She stares at him for a long moment, then leaps down from her perch gracefully, crossing her arms.

"What do you want?" she demands, apparently done with the niceties.

"Hey, whoa, these trails are public property you know. Why can't I just be another jogger like you?" he asks.

"Because you've been following me for at least two miles. And superhero or not, I don't trust people who can keep pace with me that easily and not make a sound until they mean for me to hear. You weren't even out of breath." She squares her jaw. "So what do you want?"

The girl is good, Clint has to give credit where credit is due. Definitely a hunter's kid, which is the height of irony, really. "I'd like to talk with you for a few minutes, if you think you can spare the time. No pressure though, and I promise I won't follow you if you want to leave now." He pauses, not sure if he should use this particular bargaining chip, then decides he might as well go for broke. "If it makes a difference, your dad trusted me enough to tell me where I could find you."

She scoffs. "I'm just supposed to take your word on that?"

"Call him," Clint says, waving a hand magnanimously.

She watches him for a long moment, but she must decide he's not bluffing because she doesn't take her phone out, although she does at least look like she seriously considers it. "Fine. You have my attention. What do you want to talk about?"

Man, she's not going to give him an inch. "You think we could walk and talk?"

She glares suspiciously for a long moment, and then nods. "All right," she says, and moves carefully to his side when he turns and starts walking.

"I was sorry to hear about your mom," is what he starts with, and it's probably not the best opening, because Allison goes tense, and all the hardness returns to her gaze when she looks over at him. He shrugs apologetically. "I just…I don't know what she was like, later on, but when I knew her, she was –"

"You knew my mother?" Allison cuts in. Something in her voice wobbles, and Clint feels his heart go out to her.

"A long time ago," he murmurs. Around them, the birdsong and the rustling leaves are cheerful in a way that doesn't sit right against the sudden heaviness in his heart. He's been so focused on the discovery of Allison and everything going on with his brother and the pack that he never really allowed himself to think about Victoria. About her being gone, that bright spark of life just…erased.

It hurts a lot more than he expected. He really had loved her, once. It wasn't something you just got over and forgot about.

"She never talked much about anyone outside of the hunting community," Allison says. She's staring at the ground now as she walks, looking contemplative and sad at the same time before her eyes inevitably slide back to where Clint's walking beside her. "Were you a –"

"Not even close," he answers before she can finish the question. The words feel sharp and brittle leaving his mouth, so he glances over, tries for a small smile to take the unintended sting out of them. "But we were friends for a while anyway. At least, I think we were."

Allison stops suddenly, glancing around. "Oh, I shouldn't…can we go another way?" she asks, and Clint realizes they've crossed onto Hale land.

"I know you've got no reason to trust me, here," he says. "But can I ask you to anyway? Just a little more. No one's here right now, and even if they were, it would be okay."

She stares at him with wide eyes, jaw working like she wants to ask a question, but she holds it inside and instead gives a small nod. It occurs to Clint that she must be desperate to hear about her mom, or else she would almost definitely be demanding more answers by now.

The place he's leading her to isn't really anything special, just a big cluster of boulders that form a little hiding nook his siblings used to play in. It's along the back edge of the property, far enough away for a little bit privacy, and even without a werewolf's hearing, it's close enough to hear the water from the stream half a mile out. It's peaceful, and with the way the boulders are grouped to form natural seats, it's comfortable, as well. Clint used to spend hours at a time here.

He gives Allison a small smile, gesturing toward the rocks. "The biggest one. The thing I wanted to show you is on that one."

She gives him a curious look, but she's already stepping toward the big stone, and he knows the moment she finds what she's looking for, because she leans down immediately and trails her hand over it.

It's a simple inscription, practically childish. Clint knows it by heart; spent long hours memorizing the feel of it beneath his fingers.

"VC," Allison says, looking back at Clint. "Was that…"

"Your mom," Clint acknowledges. The initials of her maiden name, not the legal, married one she'd had by then.

"And CH?" She doesn't mention the crudely-etched heart with the arrow poking through, or the words scratched underneath in Latin.

Clint sighs. "Well, that would be me."

Allison doesn't look surprised, but she does look suspicious. "Your last name is Barton."

"It wasn't always," Clint says quietly, and watches her piece it together in her head.

She swallows hard, staring again at the carving beneath her palm. "We're on Hale land," is what she finally says.

"Yeah."

"You're a werewolf?"

"Guilty." Clint's not ashamed of that, he never has been and hopes to God he never will be, but the closest he comes is when she gives him a look filled with such betrayal that it cuts to the bone. Christ, they haven't even gotten to the hard part yet.

"Why are you showing me this?" she demands in a strained voice, crossing her arms over her chest like a shield.

"Allison…" Clint stops, sighs, but she's already shaking her head in denial.

"No," she says, taking a step back, and Clint just watches her, trying to keep his own gaze steady. "No. You're not…you can't be…"

"We were together for a year," Clint says quietly. "I was an idiot teenager, just out of high school, didn't give a damn about the consequences. I just…I liked seeing her smile, and I made her smile, and that's all I cared about. By the time we broke it off, she was already pregnant. She and Chris had tried for a long time, until they found out he couldn't. They left so fast after that, I always assumed –" He cuts himself off with a wince, but Allison's too quick, fully able to fill in the rest on her own.

"You figured they'd get rid of me. Because I was the child of a werewolf. Because I could be…oh my God. I need to…" She sits down abruptly on one of the big rocks, putting her face in her hands and taking a couple deep, shuddery breaths.

"I'm so sorry, Allison," Clint says, coming to kneel in front of her. He doesn't reach out to touch because he doesn't think he'll be welcome, but it's so hard to hold himself back in the face of her pain. "I'm sorry you lost your mom, and I'm sorry things have been so hard for you. I'm sorry I wasn't there, that I didn't know to be there for you."

She looks up for long enough to give him a piercing stare. "I don't need another father," she says fiercely.

"Nope," he agrees easily. "The one you have is pretty great." Put that in the top ten list of things he never thought he'd say about Chris fucking Argent. "I'd like it if we could get to be family. I could be the cool uncle, you know, the one who sends the best birthday presents and who you can come cry to about boys and stuff." This garners a tiny, wobbly, unexpected smile. "I'd even take just friends. And if you want nothing at all to do with me, I'll accept that too." Now that he knows, now that he's seen her and smelled her and spoken with her, he's pretty sure it would kill him a little bit inside. But he can walk away if that's what she needs.

Allison is quiet for a long time, sitting hunched over with her arms folded around her knees, staring at the ground. Just when Clint is starting to really get fidgety (something he thought he'd trained himself out of a long time ago), she finally looks up and meets his eyes. "I could…I could probably use more friends in my life. Or even a little more family." There are tears shimmering in her eyes, but she tries to play it off. "I don't…really have much of that left. So I'm willing to try, if that's okay?"

Clint blinks at her. "Of course it's okay," he laughs, disbelieving. He straightens, then hesitates. "Can I maybe give you a hug now?"

Allison's laughter is kind of like sunshine. They stand up together and then stare for a long, awkward moment before she manages to take those few steps closer and wrap her arms around him. He closes his eyes, breathing in her scent, imprinting it into his mind so that he never forgets it.

"Oh," she suddenly says, pulling away to stare at him.

Clint tenses, bracing himself. "What's wrong?" he asks.

She shakes her head, her eyes wide. "No, I just. I realized that this means Derek…oh my God, Derek is my _uncle_." This time, her laugh sounds slightly hysterical. "Oh, God, what is my life?" she asks, dropping her face into her hands again.

"Um." Clint reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. He pretty much knew this was coming and still has no idea how to handle it. "I know you don't…I mean, I know –"

"I don't hate him," she says quietly, stopping Clint in his tracks. Her hands fall to her sides. "I know everyone thinks I blame him, but I don't, I haven't, not since Scott and my father told me why. The truth is…" She stops to pull in a ragged breath, her hands clenching. "The truth is, it was my fault. I didn't listen, I took stupid risks to be with Scott even though I knew…"

"Oh, sweetheart." Clint doesn't even resist the urge to tug her back into his arms, and she doesn't resist, her hands digging into the back of his shirt and her face pressing into his shoulder, leaving it damp with the tears she clearly doesn't want him to see. "You are definitely a Hale," he whispers. "Too stubborn by half, and always ready to take the blame for things that were never your fault."

They still have a lot to talk about, with the Alpha pack and the Avengers and his desire to see her as part of Derek's pack before he leaves, but for now, he holds her close and lets her pour all the things she's been holding onto for months onto him.

Clint's not her father, not in the ways that really matter, and he'd never try to take that from her real dad, but if this is part of the gig, maybe he wouldn't suck at it as much as he thought.

It's hours later when Clint finally slides into his car, feeling emotionally run ragged in about a hundred different ways, and his day isn't over yet. He texts Phil to see what's going on, discovers that he and the team are heading out for an early dinner at the local diner and that Stiles and Derek have both gone home already.

Clint lets Phil know that he'll meet him back at the motel in a couple hours, but he has something to take care of first, and could Phil please bring him back the biggest burger on the menu and a slice of blueberry pie?

 _Of course_ , Phil replies promptly, and it's immediately followed by, _Take care. I love you._

Clint smiles softly down at his phone for a moment, and then forces himself to start the car and head down the familiar roads toward the Hale house.

Derek is sitting on the front steps when Clint pulls up. He doesn't look surprised to see Clint, just moves over to clear a spot next to him, which Clint plops down onto without a word.

"So," Derek says. "You talked with Allison?"

Clint nods, doesn't ask how he knew.

Derek waits a moment, then prompts, "How'd that go?"

"Better than I expected." Clint releases a slow breath. "Girl's got some issues, like you'd expect. They weren't the ones I figured on, but I'm not really surprised." He feels the corner of his lips twitch up. "I like her more than I figured on, too. I want to be part of her life."

Derek's watching him with a curious look. "Is she going to let you?" he asks. He sounds almost nervous about the answer.

"Seems like it, as much as I can be, anyway." Clint still can't quite believe that, actually. It feels too good to be true. He glances over at Derek, sees the envy he's doing a terrible job at hiding. Remembers just how fucking important family has always been to them, to Derek. Clint nudges him gently. "Think she's going to let you, too. If you want that."

"What?" Derek looks startled. "She doesn't –"

"She doesn't blame you," Clint cuts in. "Not anymore. Not for a while. To be honest, I think she's going to talk to you soon about being part of the pack. For real, not just through Scott or when it's necessary." He hesitates, but forces himself to add, "Obviously it's going to be your call, if you want to allow that or not."

"I…" Derek shakes his head, looking away, out toward the deep parts of the preserve. "Shouldn't she be part of _your_ pack?" he asks.

Clint snorts, not without some bitterness that he tries not to let Derek see. "My pack…I'm all the way in New York, Derek. She's here. And there's no one I'd trust more to look after her."

"But Chris –"

"He's the one who suggested it. He won't give you any problems."

Derek hesitates. "Look, I don't know. We've had a lot of issues, and pack bonds require trust on both sides. I'm not sure I'd be able to let her in enough, even if I wanted to." He meets Clint's eyes again. "But I'll try. I'll listen. We'll see, okay?"

"That's all I'd ask," Clint tells him. "And Derek…thanks."

"Course," Derek replies gruffly, looking away just for a second before turning back. "I should tell you, that trust that's required to form – or _re_ form – a pack bond. That isn't…It's not a problem with you. If you ever…"

This time it's Clint who turns away, because he can't deal with this, can't afford to let himself think about it. About how much he wants it.

Derek seems to understand.

The problem, of course, and the thing Clint really doesn't want to admit to himself, is that he can already feel that pack bond – that _family_ bond – reforming. No matter how much he knows he can't be part of the pack, his wolf doesn't seem like it's inclined to listen. And if Clint can feel it, he knows damn well Derek can.

He flops down on the bed, shoes and all, the moment he trudges back into the motel room, and immediately curls against Phil's side.

"Hi," Phil murmurs, pulling him closer and nuzzling into Clint's hair. "Long day?"

"The longest." He sighs. "How'd the rest of the planning session go? I assume there were no fatalities when Derek inevitably lost his temper on Tony."

"It went fine," Phil says, his mouth quirking. "Mr. Stilinski seems to have…I wouldn't call it a _calming_ effect on your brother, but it certainly keeps Derek on his toes and limits the number of times he growls at everyone else."

Clint can't help the grin that tugs across his face at that. Poor Derek.

"Their plan seems sound," Phil continues. "I've been over every part of it half a dozen times already."

"You're the best." Clint presses a kiss to Phil's shoulder. "Anything I need to know?"

"Nothing that can't wait until morning." Phil tilts Clint's face up for a soft, lingering kiss. "Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"

Clint sighs again, burying his face in Phil's neck. This is the problem with having someone who knows your every tell; it's impossible to hide anything from them. Phil's hand stroking along his spine is soothing, and finally Clint releases another sigh and tries to explain. "It's just being here. Having all this time with my brother and the pack. It's…pretty much the worst thing in the world, you know, going from being a part of a pack to an Omega. If it hadn't been for you, I probably never would've made it through the past few years with my sanity. Lots of werewolves in that position go feral. S'why they're such easy pickings for hunters."

Phil doesn't respond with words, just gives a single nod and continues with his gentle touch. It helps more than Clint wants to admit.

"Derek offered me a place in his pack, and I just. I want that more than just about anything. But I can't. It would be torture, Phil. Being part of a pack, feeling those bonds, but being so far away from all of them? The occasional visit out west wouldn't be enough. I'm not even sure _you_ would be enough." He's ashamed even thinking it, but Phil, for all his amazing qualities, is not a wolf. Even if he himself were in the pack, it wouldn't be enough to offset the absence of wolves with whom Clint could actually feel the pack bonds, and there's no way to explain it to someone who's never felt them.

Phil, being Phil, seems to understand anyway, because instead of acting hurt or confused, he only pulls Clint closer and kisses him again. "Torture or not," he says softly, "it's already happening, isn't it?"

Clint closes his eyes, swallowing hard. "Not…not so much the pack, the betas. To be part of a pack, intent has to be declared, with acceptance given by all parties. Verbally and…spiritually, I guess. Sometimes there's even a big ceremony for it." He remembers the one they'd had for Peter's wife, three years before the fire, and his heart clenches all over again. "But it's different with Derek. We were already pack – family – and even after I went Omega, there was always something still there, some remnants of the bond just waiting for the opportunity to rebuild itself. I didn't even realize until…and after all this, I don't know if I can destroy it again." He'd have to want to, for one thing, and no matter the pain the distance is bound to cause him, he just… _doesn't_. Not again.

"I don't think you should have to," Phil tells him. "If this is something you want, you should be able to keep it." He looks frustrated with himself, for not having an easy fix to Clint's problem. In the end, he sighs. "Whatever you decide, you know I'll be here for you."

"I know." Most days, it's the only thing that keeps Clint going. "I love you."

Phil's response is another lingering kiss, so gentle it makes Clint's heart ache.

The Alpha pack appears right on schedule.

They've gone over the plan a dozen times, done everything they can to ensure that everyone will make it out of this alive. Clint knows this, just like he knows that he's gone into battles that had a lot more on the line than the lives of a few teenagers and one slightly broken young adult. But nothing has ever made his heart pound quite the way it is now.

Derek is all he has left of his family. He can't – he _won't_ – lose him. No matter what these Alpha dicks have to say about it.

"Hawkeye, report?" Cap requests.

Clint's using all his fine-tuned senses from his perch on the tall tree that overlooks a good chunk of the Hale property. He'll be damned if he misses something during this mission. "Two approaching from the north, a couple miles out, coming in fast. Young, not too practiced at being quiet. Has to be the twins. Got another big guy about three miles out to the east. Pace is slow and steady, so he's probably the backup. Kali, the second-in-command, coming in on the south, toward the back. She's sneaky, she'll be on you quick. Boyd and Isaac are covering that side, yeah?"

"Affirmative," Coulson's voice. "Widow is joining them now, and Iron Man is getting into position in the air. Hulk and Erica are going to head off the one to the east. The magic users and Thor have the north; Dr. Deaton is positive that he and Lydia can enhance Thor's lightning. Derek is prowling…I'm sorry, doing perimeter checks on the house with Scott and Captain Rogers, waiting on the leader. You haven't spotted him yet?"

"No," Clint mutters. "No sign of Deucalion. Bastard has to have something up his sleeves." He adjusts his position, but still sees nothing. Either the Alpha pack leader is hiding, which isn't his style at all, or he's holding back until he sees what the rest of his pack can do. Surely by now, he's realized that Derek's pack isn't alone. "How are you and Stiles holding up?"

They're actually in the house, even though it's the center of the whole mess, because it would be easier for them to keep tabs on everything going on that way. No one likes it (no one being Clint and Derek, in this case), but Clint knows it makes the most sense, especially with Stiles transmitting what's going on to the pack through the radios he commandeered from the sheriff's station.

"We're okay, although Mr. Stilinski is feeling rather bitter about being left behind by Dr. Deaton." In the background, Clint can hear Stiles muttering. It almost makes him grin.

"Tell him he'll have plenty of chances for some action later." Sometime when it will be a lot less life-threatening, if Derek has any say.

Clint's fingers twitch restlessly. He has to stay where he is, has to keep an eye out for Deucalion, but as he turns, he can see Bruce beginning to Hulk out, Erica by his side whooping in encouragement. He can see Kali, who will be on her prey in less than thirty seconds. He can see Deaton and Lydia stop in a spot with few enough trees for Thor to be comfortable calling his power to him.

He can see it all, and he can't move to help a single one of them. His eyes flick to the house, just in time to see Derek stop and glance up at him with something in his eyes Clint doesn't want to recognize as pride, or respect.

Swallowing hard, Clint nods to him, and Derek smiles.

Scott, on the side of the house outside of Clint's line of sight, howls. Derek's already moving, but the howl cuts off abruptly with a yelp, and almost at the same moment, there's a burst of sudden static over the comm.

 _No_.

" _Clint!_ " Derek's roar reverberates up the tree and straight through Clint's bones, and he's already moving, swinging down the branches too fast until, still too high to be particularly safe, he leaps. Feels a bone crack in his leg, but he grits his teeth through the pain and is already running on all fours toward the house while it starts to heal.

He notices, through a red haze of fear and anger and self-loathing, that it's healing faster than anything has in the years since he went Omega, and then he ruthlessly cuts that thought off at the pass because there are more important things to be concerned with right now.

He bursts through the front door, yelling "Phil!", but he can already smell the blood, the strange Alpha scent, the human fear. The back door is ajar when he makes his way through the house, and Derek is staring at him with his arms at his sides, Cap behind him trying to say something that neither Derek nor Clint hear.

"He took out Scott," Derek says tightly. "Got them out before I could even make it back here. I don't know where he went, I don't…I didn't see…"

"I didn't either," Clint growls, and there's only one way that could have happened. "Check the grounds," he says to Steve. "They dug some sort of tunnel."

Fuck, they've probably been at it for months. Popping up on schedule to check on the pack, lull them into a false sense of security of knowing when they were coming, when in reality they were never actually _going_ anywhere.

"Guys, watch your footing," Clint says into the comms, because fuck knows where these tunnels reach; if they just go to the house itself or if they pop out all over the preserve.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

"Is Agent okay?" It's Tony, and in the background, Clint can hear the blast of his repulsors firing.

"No, and neither is Stiles." Clint's throat hurts trying to force the words out.

"Well, damnit, go get them!" Another blast, and now Clint can hear Natasha's battle cry, carried on the wind along with the growls of the betas she's fighting beside. Another roar to the east is one Clint recognizes as the Hulk, who he knows will do everything in his power to protect Erica and defeat the threat.

Still…

"Rest assured, my friend, we will handle our foes as we always have." Thor, now, and the sky in that direction is beginning to roil with the lightning he'll soon call on. "You must find the others. As capable as the Son of Coul is, I fear he is no match for one such as these enemies we face."

"Yeah," Tony agrees. "And take Cap with you. God only knows what sort of trouble you two'll get into without him. _Hey, dog breath!_ " He yells the last, clearly forgetting to turn off the comm as he taunts Kali, which probably isn’t a good idea.

Clint stands frozen for a long moment, Derek staring at him, all but begging with his eyes for Clint's help. Clint's supposed to be the eyes on high, the last-minute weapon to get someone out of a bind. He can't just leave, but…Stiles. _Phil_.

"Go," says a voice from behind him, and he spins to face Chris Argent, Allison at his side with a look of fierce determination on her face and a crossbow steady in her hands.

 _Thank God_ , is all Clint can think, even though he never would have asked this of her, of either of them, and he has no idea how they knew to be there. He removes his comm and tosses it to Allison. "Find high ground, do the best you can to help them. Your eyes aren't as good as mine, but –"

She holds up some sort of high-tech binoculars. "I've got them covered," she promises. "And Dad will look after Scott and then go where he's needed most. _Go_."

Derek grabs his arm before he can respond, and Steve shouts that he found the opening, and they run.

Clint loses all sense of direction in the Alpha pack's underground tunnel system, but it doesn't matter because Deucalion apparently hasn't discovered a way to mask the scent of the two humans he has with him, and Clint could track Phil's scent to the ends of the earth if he had to.

The tunnels are small enough that they have to duck down to run on two legs. For Derek and Clint, that's hardly a problem, but Steve manages to keep up with them fairly well even hindered as he is. Every time one of them brushes against the walls, clumps of dirt fall, and Clint is very consciously not wondering just how structurally sound this thing is, because that way lies madness. He wishes he knew how the Alphas did it, managed to dig this whole thing, probably throughout the whole preserve if not the entire town, without alerting anyone, without leaving traces of the project _somewhere_. It should have been impossible.

"We're getting close," Derek says roughly, glancing back at Clint with eyes that glow crimson.

Clint lets his hearing sharpen and realizes that Derek is right; he can hear them a ways up ahead, especially Stiles' angry shouting.

"We're not going to be able to fight them down here," Steve warns from behind Clint. He actually sounds a little breathless, the werewolf speed pushing him harder than Clint realized. "Unless we want to be buried alive, and I'm not feeling up to that right now."

Deucalion must have realized that, which means he thinks he's safe as long as he's down here with two easy-to-kill human hostages.

Clint glances around, taking a few visual measurements, and then glances over his shoulder at Steve. "How accurate you think you can be with your shield down here?" he asks.

Steve grins.

Derek and Clint both fall back to let Steve take the lead, and it's only moments more before they catch sight of their prey – Deucalion, herding his hostages along with sharp jabs of his cane (Clint had heard rumors of his blindness but never really believed it till now) every time Stiles trips or they begin to slow. Even from this distance, Clint can hear the poor kid's labored breathing.

Steve's eyesight isn't as good as a werewolf's down here, but it's good enough that his stance is confident as he slows, lines up his shot, and tosses the shield down the very long dirt-packed corridor. He's already running again before it even hits, and Clint can only just make out Deucalion spin, cane coming up to block the shield, Phil behind him catching Clint's eye and making a sharp gesture –

The cane deflects, as it's meant to, and the shield veers away, hits the ceiling of the shoddily-dug tunnel, and then everything goes dark as the whole thing begins to tumble down on top of them.

 _So much for that plan_ , Clint thinks, pulling in a ragged breath just before he loses the opportunity and slamming his eyes closed. He thinks of Phil and Stiles and is terrified out of his mind for half a second before he remembers that quick gesture Phil made. _Dig_.

Clint does the thing he does best whenever he's in the field with one Senior Agent Philip J. Coulson: He follows orders.

He digs.

Clint doesn't know how they all make it out, let alone so fast, but the point is that they do, up to and including his intact bow and quiver full of arrows. Of course, he barely even has a chance to catch his breath and take note of the dirt-clad forms crawling their way out around him before there's a snarl to his right. He looks up from where he's panting on his knees in the dirt just in time to see Deucalion lunge at him.

From his other side, Derek springs to block the attack with a growl that reverberates all the way up Clint's spine. Clint scrabbles to his feet, shaking the dirt off his bow and reaching for an arrow, any arrow, that might actually do some damage to an Alpha werewolf.

He's vaguely aware of Steve several feet away, grabbing hold of Stiles' arms to help him out of the ground and then herding him and Phil away from the fight. _Good_ , Clint thinks. Better that he watch out for them than get in the middle of a werewolf fight.

Clint finds the arrow he's looking for just as Deucalion tears into Derek's arm, cutting through skin and muscle and straight to the bone. Derek roars in pain, which Deucalion uses as an immediate opportunity to flay his stomach open.

 _Breathe_. Clint inhales. _Draw_. Nocks his arrow and pulls back. He's never been so terrified of a shot he needs to take as he is right now. _Aim_. Derek, even as badly hurt as he is, is a blur of motion, slashing at Deucalion through every opening the blind Alpha accidentally gives him. He almost definitely can't win, but he doesn't even care, Clint can see he doesn't care, only wants to protect the others for as long as he possibly can. And of course, in doing so, he's getting right in Clint's way. But he'll find an opening of his own, he always does, he always—there! _Release_. The arrow whistles through the air on Clint's exhale, and he forces himself to watch even through his fear of missing the shot because he's a goddamn trained professional.

The arrow slams hard and deep into Deucalion's shoulder. He staggers even before the real trick comes: fifty-thousand volts of electricity, freezing him in place. He drops to one knee on a cry of agony. And it might not be enough to drop him, might not be enough to _kill_ him, but it's definitely enough to give Derek the upper hand. He's already moving in for the kill stroke before Deucalion has a chance to lift a hand against him, before Clint can so much as blink.

One moment, Clint's heart is in his throat, battle adrenaline rushing through his veins, and the next, Deucalion is on the ground with his throat slashed. Derek stands over him, breathing hard and bleeding from too many wounds and looking more guilty and exhausted than victorious. He turns, desperate eyes still burning scarlet as they meet and hold Clint's.

Clint staggers over to him, reaching out to pull Derek into a hard hug. He doesn't say a word because there's nothing he really _can_ say, but he holds on until Derek stops shaking quite so badly, until the tension starts to bleed away from his limbs and he feels steadier.

"I expected you to go for the kill shot," Derek mumbles as he finally pulls back. The red in his eyes has faded, allowing Clint to get a glimpse of the gray-green hazel underneath.

"You were in the way," he replies, punching Derek gently in his uninjured shoulder. He tries for a grin, finds that it comes surprisingly easily. Derek even manages to return a small, tired one of his own. "Besides, I ain't cut out to be a fucking Alpha." Never mind that he'd been raised with the expectation that someday he would be. That life is long gone.

Derek snorts, but doesn't say any of the things that probably come to mind. His gaze goes to the others, still standing several feet away, and Clint sees his eyes widen as they land on Stiles, kneeling on the ground, trying futilely to brush some of the dirt that's clinging to him off.

During the fight and in the immediate aftermath, it's clear that Derek was forced to put Stiles from his mind, but now, with the adrenaline wearing off, it's easy to see the realization hit him full-force. Something in his scent changes, some kind of determination Clint doesn't recognize, and then Derek is striding over to Stiles and yanking him up off the ground and _clinging_ to him.

Stiles' eyes are wide and shocked, his mouth gaping open, and either Derek is squeezing him tightly enough that he can't speak, or he's simply too stunned to say anything. Clint finds himself unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile as Stiles' arms slowly, _so slowly_ , come up around Derek, returning his embrace.

Phil comes to stand beside Clint, nudging in close and relaxing against him with a soft sigh when Clint's arm immediately goes around him and Clint bends to press a kiss into his filthy hair.

"Sorry about your suit," Clint whispers to him.

Phil glances at him. "It can be replaced," he says, and doesn't add, _You can't_ , because they both know just how true that is. There have been too many close calls on both sides, and not just since the Avengers formed.

Clint sighs as Steve catches his eye. He nods to him, slinging his bow back over his shoulder. "We're not done yet. We need to –"

And of course, that's when Isaac's distressed howl goes up.

Kali is dead, which is the first thing Clint notices when he and Derek arrive, skidding into the clearing where this particular battle took place. Kali is dead, and given that he can recognize the injury on her chest as a particularly close-range blast from a Stark weapon, and her throat is gaping open in a way that's too neat for claws but not for a trained assassin's dagger, it's pretty clear _how_ she died.

Clint stares around at the damage Tony caused before he and Nat and the betas finally managed to take her down, and then his eyes land on Tony himself, helmet removed and tossed to the side, sitting with Isaac and Boyd and Scott. They're clustered around a suspiciously still figure, and Clint's heart suddenly feels like a frozen block of ice in his chest.

 _No_.

"Clint." Derek's already across the clearing as he calls Clint's name, kneeling swiftly beside his betas, and Clint can't remember him moving from his side, wonders how Derek managed to get over there so fast when he feels like he's trapped in a tar pit. " _Clinton!_ " Derek shouts again, and his voice still sounds murky and far away, but it's enough to snap Clint back into himself.

" _Fuck_ ," he hisses, scrambling to Natasha's side and falling to his knees beside her.

She looks bad. Christ, she already looks half dead, even as she blinks up at him and manages to curl her lips into a parody of a smile. "Nice of you to show up," she grits out, wincing.

There's a…there's a fucking _hole_ in her side, and Clint can see all too easily the way Kali would have had to thrust her claws in, just shove her hand right _through_ Natasha, digging inside her and _ripping_. There's blood everywhere, and chunks of something a few feet away that could very well have been some of Nat's innards not so long ago. Clint feels the world tilt beneath him, thinks he might actually be sick.

It's Nat who steadies him, because of course it is. Even broken and bloody and _dying_ , she has to be the strong one. She takes his hand, threading their fingers together. "Couls'n?" she asks, her voice just barely slurring over the name.

"He's fine, they're okay," Clint promises. "Cap's got them, they'll be here soon."

 _Not soon enough_. He knows it, can tell just by looking at her face that she knows it too.

"We've had…pretty good run," she says. "No regrets."

"Dammit, Natasha." His eyes squeeze shut and he hunches over, pressing his forehead to hers.

Her breath puffs against his cheek as she turns her head just a little. "Clint. What if –" She stops, gasping for air. The only thing he can do is squeeze her hand, and it's not enough. Clint hasn't felt this useless since Phil was lying in a hospital bed on life support after New York. Maybe not even then. Maybe not since the fire that destroyed his family. Natasha swallows, squeezes his hand back, and manages one more word. "Bite."

Clint goes very still, his eyes flying to Derek, who's sitting on Natasha's other side with his hands clenched and his eyes burning. Peripherally, he's aware of Scott's eyes darting between the two of them, and of Isaac and Boyd backing away just enough to give them more of a sense of privacy.

"Nat," Clint says, looking back down to his best friend. Has she gone more pale in the ten seconds he hasn't been watching her? "Nat, there's no guarantees, it could kill you as easily as…"

"Dead anyway," she murmurs. "S'a chance, right?"

His heart is trying to beat out of Clint's chest. "It's a chance," he agrees. "But I can't be the one to do it. It has to be Derek."

Her brows draw together at that, and she looks away, clearly thinking. Clint's barely scratched the surface of the trust issues he knows she has, but he knows that the idea of giving someone she doesn't know that kind of power over her has to be tough. Hell, the idea that she would have easily given _Clint_ that sort of power actually boggles his mind.

But it's a chance.

She finally nods, wincing again as the slight movement aggravates her wound. "Do it," she says, dragging her gaze to Derek. "Please."

Derek looks to Clint, and Clint nods. _Please, Derek. Please save her_. He can't say the words out loud, can't put that kind of guilt on his little brother's shoulders if it doesn't work. But he can't help thinking them. _Please_.

Derek carefully lifts Natasha's arm, threading his fingers through hers in a mirror of Clint's hold on her other hand. He brings her wrist to his mouth as his eyes flash Alpha-red and his fangs appear.

The bite is as gentle as he can make it. Nat doesn't cry out, but she grits her teeth, turning her face away and locking eyes with Clint. He knows his own are glowing bright blue, his emotions too close to the surface to lock the wolf away entirely, but it seems to steady her.

Releasing her wrist, Derek sets it carefully back down, but he doesn't let go of her hand. "Thank you," Natasha whispers, and then consciousness finally deserts her.

Derek and Clint look at each other over the slight rise and fall of her chest. Something gives way inside Clint's chest, and he feels the bond between them flare strong and bright. There is no more fighting it, there can't be. If – _when_ – Natasha wakes up, she'll be his pack sister. It's all Clint has to give her.

Derek nods. There's relief in his eyes, and acceptance, and something almost like joy. And love. Derek still loves him, even after everything. And what Clint's done now, more than anything else, makes them family again.

_Pack._

Natasha will make it through this. And when they go back to New York, even without the rest of the pack, they'll be okay because they'll have each other. That connection will be enough to handle the separation. Really, it's like getting the best of both worlds. The thought of it, that he's no longer Omega, that he has a pack again, is almost enough to reduce Clint to sobs.

But right now, he'll be strong. He has to be strong for Natasha.

He has no idea how long they wait. He's vaguely aware of people slowly joining them where they sit in silent vigil. Erica, the Argents and Bruce first, Erica and Chris supporting Bruce's exhausted body, arms around his shoulders as they stumble toward the group and settle beside Isaac and Boyd. Tony, who Clint didn't even realized had left, leads Thor back to them, and Clint hears him murmur to the others that Lydia and Deaton are at the house, sleeping off the fatigue from their magic.

Phil and Steve and Stiles reappear last, and Clint hears the broken sound Phil makes when he sees Natasha. He reaches out his free hand and tugs Phil down beside him, burying his face in his mate's shoulder, just a moment of stolen comfort to give him the strength to keep waiting. Steve takes his place with the other Avengers, and Stiles settles quietly beside Scott, although not before first reaching down to grasp Derek's shoulder in support and reassurance.

The forest surrounding them is alive with the sound birdsong, leaves rustling in the wind, creatures scurrying from one place to another, but to Clint, everything is silent as he waits.

And finally, _finally_ , Natasha's eyes flutter open again.

"The full moon is only a week away, are you sure you can't wait it out here?" Derek's eyebrows are furrowed the way they usually are when he's worried about something.

Clint slams the trunk of the rental closed and turns to place a hand on Derek's shoulder. "We really can't," he says apologetically. "Believe me, Derek, there's no place I'd rather be." But Fury contacted Phil this morning about a potential problem, and Avengers business comes first when there are lives on the line.

Derek sighs. "Natasha –"

"She'll be in good hands." Clint makes it a promise. "The pack bonds are strong, okay? She'll be able to feel you guys even all the way in New York, and she'll have me right there with her. I have a whole lifetime of experience, I can teach her all the tricks." He grins ruefully. "And honestly, that girl could probably teach _me_ some things about control."

"I can't believe I turned a master assassin into a werewolf," Derek says. He still looks baffled by it, which makes Clint laugh. Derek glances at him with a wry smile, then sighs. "Any idea when you'll make it back?"

"Soon." Another promise. Before the rest of the team left, Tony made sure to tell him the jet is his whenever he and Phil and Natasha want it, and he intends to take full advantage. He has a real pack now, again, and he means to hold onto it this time.

Derek nods. "Clinton… _Clint_ ," he corrects himself, although Clint has realized that he actually doesn't mind so much anymore, hearing his old name. "I'm really…I'm glad you came back."

"Me too, kid," Clint replies, and doesn't resist the temptation to pull Derek in for a hard hug. "Look after yourself, okay? Keep in touch."

"You too." Derek holds him for a long moment after he says it, then pulls back so Clint can see his eyes flash. "I mean it."

"I will," Clint says with a small smile. Jesus, he feels wobbly. He refuses to lose it in a motel parking lot, saying goodbye to a brother he will _absolutely_ be seeing again soon. This is ridiculous. Thank God Derek, the notoriously grumpy and stoic one, looks like he's not faring much better. "And hey, look after Allison for me, huh?" He's already said his goodbyes to his daughter (that still sounds so _weird_ ) and the rest of the pack. Which is good, because it means none of them are around to witness the tears welling in both Hale brothers' eyes.

_Ridiculous._

Derek sniffs a little, nodding, just as Phil comes up and brushes a hand against Clint's arm. "Ready?"

 _No._ "Yeah."

Phil reaches out a hand to Derek, who stares at it for a long moment before remembering that he's supposed to shake it. He does so, looking more at the ground than at Phil until he says, "Take care of my idiot brother?"

"You have my word," Phil says with a firm nod. And seriously, Clint wonders, who's supposed to be the _little brother_ here?

But it's okay, because he thinks he might actually, sort of, very secretly…like it? Derek makes a pretty okay Alpha, all things considered. And Clint thinks he's just going to get better, especially with someone like Stiles helping him (mostly by not taking any of Derek's bullshit).

"Come on, Barton," Phil says, a gentle reminder that they have places to be and people to save.

"Sure thing, boss."

There's one more hug, _no_ tears thank you very much, a bit of backslapping, and then Clint is watching Derek watching him in the rearview mirror.

Clint's never felt this way, like he's leaving one home to return to another. New York is important to him, but damn, he never thought leaving Beacon Hills again would be this hard. Still, he can feel the pack bonds, stronger than ever, and the brightest one that means both _Alpha_ and _brother_ , reminding him that he has someplace – _someone_ – to return for, as often as he can.

And in the meantime, he reminds himself, he gets to return to his other home with his partner, his best friend, his _mate_ , and that's no small thing either.

As though reading his mind, Phil glances at him with his lips quirked up, reaching over to take Clint's hand and wind their fingers together. "Good trip?" Phil asks.

Clint releases a quiet sigh, feeling lighter than he has since the fire he thought had destroyed everything. Some things, he realizes, aren't so easily destroyed. Clint smiles. "Good trip," he agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr [here](http://morganoconner.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to swing by and say hi! :D


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